There lies another great demise of fretted life -
In things abandoned such as loving soul.
There comes decay, a touch of subtle knife.
The rich will put the heads on hardened stone.
There comes the sun of colour dark and blue.
And men will lay to waste all noble deeds.
I’ve seen this coming, in and out and through -
One always dies of that for which one pleads.
***
© Copyright: Томас Кромвель, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122060307987
Свидетельство о публикации №122060307987
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