Poems (Forrest)/The democrats
THE DEMOCRATS
I always hope your ghost can not come back,
For it would break your tidy heart to see
How, round your stone, the greedy wild weeds pack,
And buttercups allure the careless bee.
You were so neat in life, you loved to mark
With tape and rule the substance of your days;
You measured every hour from dawn to dark
And never wandered in unscheduled ways.
For it would break your tidy heart to see
How, round your stone, the greedy wild weeds pack,
And buttercups allure the careless bee.
You were so neat in life, you loved to mark
With tape and rule the substance of your days;
You measured every hour from dawn to dark
And never wandered in unscheduled ways.
A row of tiles kept in your pruned loves;
Your passions, too, were clipt and deftly trimmed.
To lift your dust the reckless vine-root moves;
Your very name with lichen rags is rimmed.
Two dragonflies in summer wantoning
Coquet about the rail. The red wasp sups
On blooms spawned from the fecund dust of spring;
And over you, those wild and golden cups
Laugh at the rust on Custom's gilded glaive—
Pert vagabonds that fill the gipsy track—
To make a lawless tangle o'er your grave.
I always hope your ghost can not come back!
Your passions, too, were clipt and deftly trimmed.
To lift your dust the reckless vine-root moves;
Your very name with lichen rags is rimmed.
Two dragonflies in summer wantoning
Coquet about the rail. The red wasp sups
On blooms spawned from the fecund dust of spring;
And over you, those wild and golden cups
Laugh at the rust on Custom's gilded glaive—
Pert vagabonds that fill the gipsy track—
To make a lawless tangle o'er your grave.
I always hope your ghost can not come back!