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