what is that? what is the strange
land
i see over the fence
of work,
of structure
and responsibility.
the clock set
at six to rise.
the routine of decades
gone by.
what is beyond
the gate?
are those
flowers over there,
greenery,
trees and trimmed hedges,
beside the hilly lawn?
is it the primrose
path,
with stones engraved,
is it the fast
walk down to the cemetery?
am i too early,
am i late?
No comments:
Post a Comment