Time moves swiftly like a rolling stream
Waiting not for me, or for my pal
Carrying with it only the top soil
Leaving behind persons in vain dream
I, a lousy sheep, roll on warm bed
Letting go the moving with no dam
Chasing flies sitting on lazy ram
Without, to that goal, running ahead
At best, I cry for that spilling milk
Like a poet composing empty words
At worst, I’m like those still, naughty gods
Unconcerned for those weaving fine silk
Waiting not for me, or for my pal
Carrying with it only the top soil
Leaving behind persons in vain dream
I, a lousy sheep, roll on warm bed
Letting go the moving with no dam
Chasing flies sitting on lazy ram
Without, to that goal, running ahead
At best, I cry for that spilling milk
Like a poet composing empty words
At worst, I’m like those still, naughty gods
Unconcerned for those weaving fine silk
Henry Victor 09.05.2003
No comments:
Post a Comment