What is between us is like potlatch:
you give me little more than I can own,
you bring in all the riches that you hold,
let finest champagnes flow like limpid molten gold,
like morning dew' refreshing touch;
it loosens our tongues,
it makes words fall down on the floor like pearls.
But all those precious gifts are more than I can ever carry.
And I will lose the game,
because whatever I will give away
will not succeed to match.
But let us never care about payback and about tomorrow.
Seize the day.
And for a moment have it all.
Indulge in our prodigality,
and pour it down the drain,
and then have nothing left.
Ephemera - forgetful, feckless, vain.
***
© Copyright: Донни Маклеод, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116031500733
Свидетельство о публикации №116031500733
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