I leave to the void a legacy, a rod,
As I depart with a bowed head, unshod—
To this alone, I owe a gift, a grace,
(A muddled mind in a sealed bottle's space).
Three luckless colors, a waxen caress,
A heart of embankments, few tears' oil to bless,
The deeds of ink in abundant darkness.
No comments:
Post a Comment