fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
dusting of stars
up in the sky
the lights of cars
go swiftly by
a single tree
covered with lights
is what i'll see
on all these nights
too cold to walk
too old to dance
no time to talk
a proper chance
to be inside
away from cold
no place to hide
the storied gold
an age or two
may slowly pass
what's old is new
returning grass
we long for spring
and its warm light
the kind of wing
for honest flight
and so we pause
and think a while
of the firm laws
that none defile
the time to smile
the time to speak
the longest while
the shortest week


Dec. 12th, 2007 07:31 pm
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
never much time
to get work done
nor any one
to blame for crime
we might not shun
never much time
who in their prime
deferred to none
have got to run
never much time

never much time
for well begun
the wheel has spun
you make the climb
speaking of fun
never much time
we hear the chime
it may not stun
under the gun
never much time

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
nothing to say
no one to hear
so much is dear
on the slow way
we've time to play
but far or near
there's no one here
lives out the day

echoes in stone
a warning sound
ears to the ground
we're quite alone
who would atone
not one to hound
since pound for pound
none could atone

all gone is grief
down to the wall
not one would bawl
out in relief
worker or thief
each has to fall
before the call
like a brown leaf

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

 we tell it plain
and hear it bold
the words are old
but there's no strain
against the grain
the story's told
but in the fold
there's little pain
the nights are cold
winter again
we chase the train
fit in the mould
no bell is tolled
we reach the main
without a stain
we strike the gold

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
stories all end
republics die
all rulers lie
none is a friend
the downward trend
makes each feel wry
too clear the sky
nothing to send
the double bend
fools every eye
no one is spry
nothing will mend
we just pretend
to laugh and fly
time going by
does not depend
on any speech
by happy folk
or terrorist
beyond our reach
a blasted oak
cannot persist
we try to teach
each noble bloke
who closes fist
upon the beach
the final joke
has an odd twist
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

 all days run down
the beat is loud
and all are cowed
by one small frown
throughout the town
not one who's proud
may stand unbowed
who's not a clown
all that we say
is given shape
by silent ones
we lost the way
each naked ape
under strange suns


fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

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