The Last Poem

Poetry and song In bed with all that I get wrong New words writ with tune New dust to lie upon the gloom Each one was a sinner And each done was a saint Each one called to dinner But each one called was late Loved and soon hated Discarded soon after baited Pictures for a lie Theatre without fair Muse’s eye I sought the wisest word In the depths of the song Its name too often heard Was love, and so I long… Here is the last poem Shutting its door, leaving its home Here is the last song A requiem for all the wrong What was dreamt was so dear How softly sleeping lies What was dreamt was unclear Through hardened waking eyes