The Death of the Poet

20 May

What a worthless poet we have lost!  
Cheery, anxious and attractive
Like a rotten lief he’s cought by frost
In November day he’s captive.

What a great beginning we were seeing!
While he was making fun of us.
And he didn’t know the hole was digging,
When his back absorbed first curse.

He was all eyes but he saw nothing 
Stripy nothing mixed with something
He had met in his deep childhood
In times he dreamt about the knighthood.

He was the kindest and the sweetest boy
Everything brought him boundless joy.
But woe sometimes runs across our way
And it happened to him one sad day.

(to be continued..)

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Posted by on 20/05/2013 in Poetry


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