AUSTRALIA | Tuesday, 28 May 2013 | Views [243] | Comments [1]
Cemetary
A dreaded sunny daySo I meet you at the cemetery gatesKeats and Yeats are on your sideA dreaded sunny daySo I meet you at the cemetery gatesKeats and Yeats are on your sideWhile Wilde is on mineSo we go inside and we gravely read the stonesAll those people all those livesWhere are they now?With the loves and hatesAnd passions just like mineThey were bornAnd then they lived and then they diedSeems so unfairAnd I want to cryYou say: "ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn"And you claim these words as your ownBut I've read well, and I've heard them saidA hundred times, maybe less, maybe moreIf you must write prose and poemsThe words you use should be your ownDon't plagiarise or take "on loans"There's always someone, somewhereWith a big nose, who knowsAnd who trips you up and laughsWhen you fallWho'll trip you up and laughWhen you fallYou say: "ere long done do does did"Words which could only be your ownAnd then you then produce the textFrom whence was ripped some dizzy whore, 1804A dreaded sunny daySo let's go where we're happyAnd I meet you at the cemetery gatesOh Keats and Yeats are on your sideA dreaded sunny daySo let's go where we're wantedAnd I meet you at the cemetery gatesKeats and Yeats are on your sideBut you lose because Wilde is on mine
De smid Aug 4, 2013 9:18 AM