My mother told me when I was a boy
Son look up, and see it, that grand old sky.
But now I suspect, her meaning was coy.
When I look up, I see that we will die.
This great ordeal will end without a ring.
For I have befallen no matriarch.
Not one coy mistress to dinner I bring.
For life is as passioned as my food's starch.
I don't want a body, merely your heart.
I no longer care, life has lost its art.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
My mother told me when I was a boy
Son look up, and see it, that grand old sky.
But now I suspect, her meaning was coy.
When I look up, I see that we will die.
This great ordeal will end without a ring.
For I have befallen no matriarch.
Not one coy mistress to dinner I bring.
For life is as passioned as my food's starch.
I don't want a body, merely your heart.
I no longer care, life has lost its art.
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