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Yes, Life Crumbled At His Feet Like Decay On An Old Log
Yes, Life Crumbled At His Feet Like Decay On An Old Log
Yes, life crumbled at his feet like decay on an old log
that morn was abjectly eerie had a low moving fog
and in the distance a low murmur rolled on in
In that bleak little world, in the country road a dead dog
Whilst in the teeming city was the ever present smog.
The dirty man was tall, beady eyed and almost blind
one could surmise may he was out of his hair raising mind
his apelike features like so much splashed on barnyard paint
In that washed up world, was there room to ever be kind
Or heaven help us, any leeway to relieve workers that grind.
Why does such mysterious manmade happenings so abound
is it earth is dying or rare truth never to be found
should Godlike justice appear to rear its judgmental head
Justice is too often at buried like snakes in the ground
And lay there like a useless orchestra playing no sound.
Yes, life crumbled at his feet like decay on an old log.
That morn was abjectly eerie had a low moving fog.
Robert J. Lindley, dec 17th 1983
Rhyme
Copyright ©
Robert Lindley
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