Cry the Shoah;
Life was more splendid
In the company of Noah.
Now Muhammad rages—
Bloodies all the pages:
Can’t our child tremble at a first kiss?
Where did we go wrong? What went amiss?
Pagans, heroes, and martyrs,
All greet the dawn;
Who amongst us despairs
At the Spring’s new mowed lawn?
What ersatz supremacy has mastered
Over the Lunar Penumbra?
Colours convex and illuminate,
While toiled souls, lost, crumble.
And tomorrow comes soft;
Plans made, bed made, bread spread marmalade;
The race renewed for best laid plans.
Bainwood for The Quarter is in better trade.
While the rain lingers oer the park
As an old heart passes from light to dark.
Posted on August 6, 2019, in Poem and tagged aging, Bainwood (her house), colours, dawn, eclipse, first kiss, French Quarter, futile aspiratikons, green grass, growing up, hearts, heroes, Islam, Jewesses, Judiasm, Kentwod LA, lawns, love pursued, marmalade, martyrs, maturing, Muhammad, Noah, pagans, penumbra, rain, soul, the morning, The Shoah, tomorrow, White Supremacy. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.