I have a friend named Rupert Brooke.
He wrote whatever's in the book
my cunning girl-friend amply used
to guard off sexual offence,
a sort of limited defense,
and both were smitten, and abused.
My every other friend's the will
that forms the icicly returns
of forms too busy to be still,
but from whatever friendship earns
in casualties, breaks and burns,
it never ever really learns.
I have more friends, all real ones.
I make them up, as God makes nuns
to absolutely abstain
from yerdes and pines,
and other signs,
all written in the other brain.
They all read Rupert by the brook,
of soldiers and the life they gave
to lovers, and the rose they took
to life's most disobedient slave,
the death. My Rupert! it's a save.
And life's a fine and private grave.
2 ноября 2017 г.
I have a friend named Rupert Brooke
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117110300446
Свидетельство о публикации №117110300446
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