Ironic: Lld

There are no hollows any more

Between the mountains; the prairie floor

Is like a curtain with the drape

Of the winds' invisible shape;

And nowhere seen and nowhere heard

The sea's quiet as a sleeping bird.

Now we're traveling, what holds back

Arrival, in the very track

Where the urge put forth; so we stay

And move a thousand miles a day.

Time's a Fancy ringing bells

Whose meaning, charlatan history, tells!

In The Matter Of Two Men Is It Because I Am Black? facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail