You knew that odd satiety
about the troublingly arranged
times between sad dubiety,
and smiled thinly, when things changed;
You had better ways to leisure
that were stitched with light to measure.
I have listened for your pace,
walking past our common place,
slowly come to a conclusion
about you and him and it,
chomping at my fraying bit,
that grace isn't in seclusion
(necessarily at least),
And that enough, if sparing, is far better than a feast.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment