Tell of the sad derangement of the mind.
The wheat is being harvested.The sun
shines on the bales,unclouded,unconfined.
Work as brisk as hard is being done.
Cider's drunk at night.Documents are signed.
The bedrooms warm.No licenses on fun.
Tell of the sad derangement of the mind.
Tell of the sorrow nations we cannot mend
Tell of the sad derangement of the heart.
The wind is up and musical.The sky
Rolls over meadows,over cities,over cart
And cadillac,the sanctum in the sty.
The blossom in the garden is not a thing apart.
Dinner's in the oven.Friends are dropping by.
Tell of the sad derangement of the heart.
Tell of the sorrow when nations have to part.
Tell of the sad derangement of the soul.
The wine is on the table.The talk is fine.
There's lamplight in the corner,the glowing coal,
Laughter form the kitchen,washing on the line .
Gourments (fit to twist a knowing nostril) stroll
The happy halls.There's music.Pass the wine.
Tell of the sad derangement of the soul.
Tell of the sorrow when nations lose control.
Tell of the sad derangement of the man.
Sleep is in the doorway,and the night
closes behind it.The fondest lovers yawn,
fold themselves in beds both neighbourly and right.
A sanctuary of starlight protects them as they scan.
The inner world of dreams,before the morning light.
Tell of the sad derangement of the man.
Tell of the sorrow before the world beg
2007-11-02
10:00:24
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3 answers
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asked by
liam_jones_10_10
2
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry
last word is not beg it is began
2007-11-02
11:30:08 ·
update #1