Indolent for a cause more superior,
He’d nothing to do with the stars falling.
Child, he drove insane old monsignor,
Asking how to be ‘bout every star rising.
No answer had might to rest his inquiry,
No book was sent back ‘thout tacit resent.
Pointed eyes joined in speak with mysterious druery.
Oh, I miss lil’ fella, where are you now, me lad?
Being old, driven crazy, probably,
With the cassock-found remedies in holy lore,
Kneeling – question-mark-like, stand you adorably…
Can’t let it go unanswered?... my beloved monsignor?..
Cause indolent
© Copyright: Fern, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104013100876
Свидетельство о публикации №104013100876
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