EVERYTHING IN ONE PLACE
What will we do with the last pleasant day?
Shall it be known? Will we call it by name?
What gentle hill, turned to island or bay
Will host final warmth of sun’s last gentle flame?
A prayer profane if a loss we lament
To claim we exchanged our birthright for fuel
As setting sun sinks, there may rise the red thought
That guards and their arms are purchased with wealth
And now the last thing left to sell has been bought
No more can fortune give vouchsafe of health
You can follow @JuliusGoat.
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