There’s nothing wrong to weep for
No poets drum to beat for
Just a wailing sun to sleep for
As I lay cross the bed
The echo dawnlight on the blinds
Through its misty ageless climbs
Begs my form in blankets twined
And plays across my head
But what words does this sun preach?
With failing smile and no speech
Just empty aching warmth and screech
All blatant and untrue
No messenger, no courier comes
With fire-eyes and feet that run
Just a whisp’ring wind a setting sun
I close my eyes and go
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