The Price of Poetry
no din less more pronounced upon your ear
scallions separated blend to meet the stew
when hearty hearts drink out the broth of fear
and bury those with heavy hearts they knew
long mornings sun bestowed upon
when laddies grew beneath
and lads to lasses onward come
to part the laurel wreath
Tis hill we fools apart the path will travel
hats upon a head no longer there
and when to meet the layers to unravel
and when is left the floor yet barely bare
in ages ancient passed behind the eye
I long the longest sound to whisper now
and you may bring the bringing all for aye
but never will this song be singing low
ye cannot enter here nor can I come
for this the place that none can call their home
to hither yonder plain and tip to dome
none can worship all that worship some
some drink to fill the tears that they have lost
some cost is paid for every spill we see
though our hearts may fairly break each day
each day is payment fair for what we be
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