Raise high the way of the black crow,
and the Phoenix,
and the body politic that lay deeply in the sand,
in the dirt,
raise high and high again,
the past and the present,
in an effort to keep the byline,
hold your fingers up,
until the brass ring comes off,
until the emerald shines again,
until the clouds part a bit,
raise high, high, again,
for the leaves were wilting,
and falling here and there
No comments:
Post a Comment