Tis of a crooked night to save or borrow
That which means naught to sorrow
But left in destiny's hands
Ill, grave, wayward sadness
Marked upon my knitted brow
That which rhymes
Starved in pitied lights from near hearth
Spangled and withering
Left to dangle of idle husbandry
This will not find room in memory
But be spared time to wallow in gallantry
Take this dagger and lay it upon my heart
And spare me no recourse
As the cock will crow on the morrow - July 1, 2006
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