deepundergroundpoetry.com
My “Epitaph”
Pause here who’d pass me by, pause here, my friend,
That last my words forbade, last find their end.
Too many hours alone I gave the Muse,
Too many days I've lost to phrase I'd use.
My poet’s brain was crossly wired wrong,
To rather write than sing my lover’s song,
To claim in words that wanton sex imply,
Than find a wanton girl who'd with me lie.
So keep them all, I'll wordless wander home,
That I may write in her my heaven’s po’m.
That last my words forbade, last find their end.
Too many hours alone I gave the Muse,
Too many days I've lost to phrase I'd use.
My poet’s brain was crossly wired wrong,
To rather write than sing my lover’s song,
To claim in words that wanton sex imply,
Than find a wanton girl who'd with me lie.
So keep them all, I'll wordless wander home,
That I may write in her my heaven’s po’m.
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