Fellow

Stumble by this sombre well
Crumbling walls long forgotten by swell
of sweet Spring
To hell! such fleeting things
Bleating rings in ears
Preacher’s tears, a new rain for the hillside
Strain of years spent laying beneath landslide
Deafened by silence of conflicts past
Defending defiance is convict’s last task
before shackles dare define him
and he forgets all that came before
Incensed by shame and slamming of doors
Belated knowing that to pause
to think
is a cardinal sin
So we applaud and drink to the idiot’s grin

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