Tuesday, May 12, 2015

VERSIFIER



Hold my hoary breath for
A moment’s pause
O dearest,
My loving bard!

From yonder far
I can see through my blind eyes
The walking cane, with
The kind of loving stoop

What little hemlock,
I drank in pain and plum
Behind the closed walls of my cells,
It tamed my docile strength

Whose pulp I savor thus,
In full bloom wisdom; as
I quiver down the spine
To amble in vain

O there, the versifier;
Drudge my work
With tremor hands, and
Pluck my breath wearily to plant oblivion

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