through Gemini skies of all who walk devine
what purpose in a crawl of bright elite?
what flesh on bone that burns a brighter grave?
a king in exile lost
a legacy of three roads hanging still.
no nightingale of years of rich desire
until the last our memories of May.
how many doorsteps dream of days gone by?
through soldiers eyes of sycamore and mud
our dead child free of all until this last
should London call at dusk and beg reprieve;
bouquets and bracelets
three days gone by
still I stand and stare a human voice;
a road to youth all laughing bells
as one of two old crows is as it ends;
for all the dead of amaranth and rose
a lizard to the tongue such is a lie
to argue each as militant and crab;
when this old world was new
how ripe the flutes that dared our trees to hang!
those two I met in Venice
both orphans from a light of breathing snow
four words but still all poets dammed
all words of persephone from Derwent\'s pen;
all things must die
so ask no more for early spring
now splendour in the arts of letters lost
write me a while for I remember not
the greatest love of sea and merriment;