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
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