a longer life is long,
and every lonely man will tell you so,
the laughing days, as such, are gone,
and the dew that slid down the length of every dripping thing gone with them,
but oh, to taste that honey,
to come to it again,
my old grey beard in the sticky sweet,
o those words, that image,
o Lord, if you exist,
do you have a prayer for this?
so cruel with cancer and broken faith,
you have your answers in your stupid face,
can you rise?
can you go on?
is there nothing left?