Those ancient bones feel no remorse
They've trudged the mire and run the course,
Seeped the blood and moaned aloud
Despite the murmuring of crowd,
Despite the caw of she who brayes
Or of the friend, who nothing says.
Despite betrayals smoking gun
Or silence of the songs unsung,
Sweet sadly fading colour's pall
When rich chatreuse was your recall....
Loves lament in darkened lane
As lips, once kissed, now flee the flame...
Sad, so sad with no recourse
For ancient bones can't feel remorse.
M.