"thriftless" poems
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered **** of small worth held.
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy ***** days,
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer, “This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,”
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.
2.7k
Forgive my anger,
For death of a loving loyal thing,
Forgive my anger,
For inability to watch flightless birds fall,
Forgive my anger,
For frustration in a thriftless township,
Forgive my anger,
For failure to walk the unsteady paths,
Forgive my anger,
For fear of non-recognition of deadly things,
Forgive my anger,
For childish carelessness I heed fury for,
Forgive my anger,
For the failure of my babied plant to fruit,
So forgive my anger,
For justified failures.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC