“Lastly, his tomb shall list and founder in the troughs of grass. And none shall speak his name.”
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But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
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My soul is now her day, my day her night, So I lie down, and so I rise.
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Laughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die.
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