The clock doth striketh the parting hour,
as it nears, from me, all fear shall cower,
for as I ease of miserable life,
thou surely of grief shall be much rife.
Thou who whom giveth the lifeth name
Thou source of all my worldly shame
Thine whose purpose but an hour's grace
Only for death to part and embrace.
Then thou oh blanket of dirt and cold
thou oh who hideth the sin of old,
thine purpose is but to grasp in hand,
and presseth beneath the fruitful land.
Such the river flows into the flote
And thus does life to demise denote
for Then I shall rejoice the hour's end
then Come oh dear, oh fustiest friend
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Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 21st, 2025 10:04
- Comment from author about the poem: A Re-Publish
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
Offline)
Comments2
A most interesting write with the use of language that would make one think of an older time but with alterations. Antiquing seems to be the theme. Nice
Thank you. Archaic English has always excited me; there is something about the 'thou' and 'thee' which stirs up an introspective sense of nobility which I so adore.
Excellent write
Thank you
You're welcome
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