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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