Wednesday, August 2, 2017

another poet




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 a warm bed

letting go the moving with no dam

chasing flies sitting on a 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 naughty gods

unconcerned for those weaving fine silk



© henry victor     09.05.2003



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