Sunday, August 16, 2015

The Mist of a Mystic Mood

’Tis rare, but just now
I feel . . . rather sad,

not from what I see
before me, yet from

what I do foresee
coming round the bend,

the end of good health,
start of practicing

the finest of arts:
withering away.

Ah, it’s here . . . it’s now,
thus I do rehearse

while I await, with 
patience, my own hearse.

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