What does anyone do
At the end of such times
Does it wallow and wilt
In the fading of rhymes
Or admit that it still
Is mistaken
I know
Or still has to face forward
And think of it slow
In the show up as usual
Lost and alone
You look dressed for a party
Political throne
And the worker bees buzz
And the servants condone
Unacceptable rifts
In the peace
I am prone
To embody
And sway
And then never more stray
To the morning
Stay sleeping
Don’t wake to dismay