Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, June 15, 2020

Sonnet #311

A wise man told me to live for work
Never kill time, because my will
To rise up and make my mark fills
Me up and time’s shadow, death, always smirks
But I waste what I want, and encourage the same
Your work will falter, too, and when it does
It won’t matter whether you were in the throes
Of genius, driven and strong, or if your quiet name
Relaxed into ease and infamy. Diadems drop
As wise women sing, and our walk sends
Every moments’ step into a virgin snowfall, so stop,
Drink the wine, and ease into a fine, cool autumn
be kind enough to time and death that when it is the when
You can laugh and have a brandy with them

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