Woe is me to discover the kalvonitch gone,
rolling in cowpats and scratching at fleas
Alas, one sister less to harass the dead.
Gone to scent the trails of Dunedin fields
as Daffodil stirs awake in gentle bloom,
the stalking dog barks in vain against the
nature of one lost man.
Counting souls and growing very very old,
embittered by the the chill wind of hate,
consumed, not seeing that it is far too late.
No comments:
Post a Comment