| |
About This Poem
They are wiser
The song will spin and rake and weave
Night draws a warm, inviting sleeve
He walks along the water's crest
And picks the leaves that he likes best
How certain are the lovely girls
The calloused hands of aging earls
A locket with a bit of twine
Forget them all, this hour is mine
The sound of many worldly prayers
The splitting up of all the hairs
Will corner, force to choose a fate
To bring about what comes too late
Come sit upon a marble throne
Forget the room you called a home
Keep not one single bit of proof
That you were once a thing of youth
|