Journey's End Poem by David McLansky
Journey's End
Mortals all
Blind we fade
The prophecy
Not clear in the cup
And after is
Is after all
Knowing naught
Of what we're made;
Then bourgois Maiden
Of wifely cares
Come weave me in
Your routine days,
Clean my brain
As you sweep the stairs,
And lull me with
Your beehive ways;
Do not let my
Heart choke up
Over what I'll never know
Nor really
Ever
Need
To know
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4/26/2024 10:06:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
