I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Ah, eternity Not images in sequence But everything, still
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
We will have to trust the hounds in the snow What we cannot find, their keen noses will How to keep starvation at bay, we know
"Egg in a small cup" Your name signifies just this But you mean much more
Seldom is he satisfied with our work Although we gather all the wood we can He surveys our wretched toil with a smirk
Everything we do Quickly becomes a message Public or private
Are my ears lying? Did a foolish, old monkey Just tell me to sit?
How I loved teaching Before the plague transformed it Into a drab farce
Made with ludic love Slowly thawed by time and light Gone swiftly, like us
Anyone familiar with winter Understands that it could bury our world We imagine Hell as blazing fire But into ice and snow we will be hurled
You are looking for Someone to misread your work In just the right way
Permit me to confess my secret hope: Since I was very small and full of dreams I have wished with leonine grace to lope
If things are driving you nuts And you’re anything like me Which you must be, if things are driving you nuts You will blame yourself, and in many cases
