Dynasty Ends
Adorn is brokered, a die miscast
so far as matter's in psalters passed.
Silk lining hosts haunt Askfor moors
which waiter taunts in petit fours
and serves a volley half way there
presents a future to the past
to seek your painful marriage of
glass
hold a troll enfold on a knoll of
grass
The president enlaureate is
hung up on the ropes of maiden hair
as the sickness of the hammer
the sickle and the scythe for
ever in my words, in my thoughts
Death spared you your journey's best
to keep the old, to heaven with the
rest
in a tumbling plunge from life incomplete.
Did you smile your child to greet?
