Endless Wake
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March you wooden miniatures,
Sullen and stoic all.
Bend the band with iron hand,
Heed your master’s call.
Lambs and cattle, herds no matter,
Flocks and docks and drops of rain.
With massive moods and thundering hooves,
And castle walls of pain.
Gates withstand this hour of sand,
And moods of life sublime.
For cobbled stony roads of pride,
The cost is but your time.
Wars and whores and bedtime snores
Surround us in profusion.
Sleep sedates as love awaits
Beyond all life’s confusion.
So march you wooden miniatures
Like candles lit on cake.
Many of number waiting in slumber
To dance your endless wake.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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