Shall not that lamp rekindle
the burnt out laughter
from the hearts of my few friends,
Some are sad with shoddy face
smiling tasteless with concurring mild fate
Shall not that delight compose
the merry childhood run
from the ponderous glum of my few friends,
Some plod meagre, the drudge
Straining their tighter veins
Shall not that gentle wind flame
the hearts of my adoring love
whose hanging shadow, always
ping me bereft of longer lights
Hooting the elms from the darker nights
Shall not shrewd and canny world
tangle my love with shadow to contend;
Rob nectar from my hanging heart,
That is how I answer from the dark
Hooting my nights, wide awake!
No comments:
Post a Comment