Listen-can't you hear the soft chords

of dusk's gray curtains

with a counterpoint of taps?

Each note cajoling the rolling

wooden wheels, pushing them on-

pushing them on until the spokes

grow tired and scatter, and the carriage

surrenders it's blue velvet seats..

.

No more rhetoric of desparate hawkers

with black mail promises- only music

to lean on when weary , and sumptious

ambrosia to eat. Beautiful flowers

that smell of tomorrow, and trees

that shade with love, and never drop a leaf.

Aren't you glad you listened to the soft chords

of dusk's grey curtains, with the counterpoint

of taps- those sobbing notes of taps?

05/30/2005

Posted on 05/31/2005
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce