Page 13 - silent_secret

THE TENT IS BROKEN

Some whe_re under some raintree
A nymphet trembles at: the sight
Of her first blood -

The lonely man watched right thro' the nights,
Listlessly s:tumping from whisitle to whistle

Stupidly trying to ward off cold with ithe sky's fringes

Waiting, watching for a New Morn -
At daybreak dies the Poet unwept

At tentbreak lies the Girl unconsol'd -
Squashing the nightly darkness in his hands
The poet

Fills his throat with the sadness of an old
dead past

And spurts a million foams at climax

But, who cares? No, not: a ripple, not even a little start.

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