Ask the man all skilllless and off
Upon whose face noiseless time has crept on weather
In what veiny ruin his childhood coughs
Itself to sleep in wild blue forever
Upon whose face noiseless time has crept on weather
In what veiny ruin his childhood coughs
Itself to sleep in wild blue forever
But don’t expect prophecy, amigo:
Though twigs and dirt stick in his beard
The oracles were all shuttered long ago
And God sings lonely in the mockingbird.
Though twigs and dirt stick in his beard
The oracles were all shuttered long ago
And God sings lonely in the mockingbird.
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