Random thoughts, poems, jottings, and as it says, musings. About anything and everything!
Saturday, 5 May 2012
Appearing in his way to move to death
A precipice before him in hairs breadth
The white rose in his hand held high
Will he fall down, or will he fly
And step out into space, beyond all
As he strides forward, dainty, tall
To walk perhaps upon the very air
This is his mystery, his wondrous flair
His wallet on his stick, his head upraised
Here is the cipher, the fool, and we amazed
At motley harlequin who comes and goes
And never reveals, and never shows.