Dors Bien, Mon Ami
T Tom Billsborough
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I find death wanting. It has no allure
On such frail stems the harebells grow
Blue eyes that scan the blue
From perilous ledges on their
cliff-side perch
True pioneers which search
The wide horizon, blue on blue,
For dreams of new beginnings.
I find death wanting. It has no allure
I shall grow again upon
The shallow soil of my despair.
The sea may toil for ever
But has no need for shadows.
Goodbye, my friend.
Sleep well until the morrow.
Bu şiiri puanla
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