The bright, golden minutes,
The minutes of youth?
I, said the Soldier, dressed in his red coat,
I with my trumpet, my sword and my flag,
I murdered the minutes.
I took the minutes and what good I did,
For see how the black men kneel, he said.
Who killed the hours,
The gay purple hours,
The hours of faith?
I, said the Parson, in his black cloak.
I with my book and my bell and my pen,
I killed the hours.
I killed the hours
As my holy right,
and see how the people kneel at night.
Who slew the years,
The sweet precious years
The years of truth?
I, said the Lover, in her gay gown,
I with my lips and my breasts and my eyes,
I slew the years.
I slew the years,
My silly talk;
And see how you kneel to me in love.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2017/11/30 - 09:04
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