The Everlasting Voices


Where once we would double-dig 

the claggy clay with all our might;

our various jackets discarded;

grasping at handles -fate would be fair-

now we walk alongside someone else's fence

as if in need of a guide rail. And after will come 

our lamenting wraiths howling as they must 

their warning for men too well adapted, losing options.

Already whispers rise that will not stop for the stars.

◄ Poems Of Yeats

Sent To Me In A Dream ►


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