When winter came, they were not ready. No
One is. And though they'd seen it all before,
They never thought of winter any more.
That time had gone, and no one heard it go.
What did they have? A leaf or two to show
Succeeding generations, who would smile
And think how quaint the Old Ones were, who never
Took off their clothes or painted something clever
Or died for love or died for peace, whose style
Was okay in its time, away, a while.
Poems by Richard Epstein. Not much commentary, only one picture (sorry, Alice), and little disruption: just a place to find poems by Richard Epstein
Thursday, November 16, 2017
Wednesday, November 08, 2017
Dead Grandpa in Tomorrowland
Dead Grandpa is
considering rebirth.
A china pig or
Cleopatra’s nose
would do, but all
his latest friends are here
and do not want to
look like nematodes
in search of a
savant, nor weeds and rocks.
He had a date
tonight. If she would be
a pagan suckled in
Tibetan hills,
maybe he’d go for
gold. Or porphyry.
A statue of a statue
in the rain,
at least until he’d
smartened up a bit.
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