--
All is wrong
In my Mother tongue
I am less homeful, still for hire:
long live bulls' nomadic fire!
My worst nightmare: shackles
out of joyful punning
as my refuge, I fear
yields to new master's cunning
(...in, out & roundabout the deeply
wallowing whale to swallow
your badge, crown & shackles, & so--)
I bid you goodnight, sweet Prince:
unfettered nightmares find you poor
and free!
--
How Old Is an Old Vine?
Fa 15 hores
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