Who was that man, in thee depth of sleep,
where the crowd cries, and thee widow weeps,
within his coffin, suited dark,
alive or dead, he pearced thy heart,
Grief, for mourners, his last will,
the hearse moved upward, on the hill,
He wrote of love once, in black and white,
spare the ode, he lost his fight,
Truth be known he couldn't see,
black was death before his greed,
below a stone, old lost thoughts lay,
who was that man, anyway,
Where once he roamed, strangers trod past,
an ode there lies, below thee grass,
"A blade, A blade" he hollers out,
but none do strangers hear him shout,
"Once was I, Oh', Once was I",
below a stone, he cried and cried,
paced the mourners, back and forth,
planting flowers in the crusted earth,
Black or white, alive or dead,
"My quill, My quill", once ink he said,
a spirit shouts to the graven Ode,
"Speak in English", Oh' dear lost soul",
"Death, be death" what stone engraved,
who was that man, thy strangers say,
Once an ode, where widow weep,
bare thee soul, thy shepard keeps!
Copyright ©
Valerie_Pearson
... [
2003-12-29 23:29:34]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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