I've known glory, I've known shame
I keep my mouth shut tight
Who's right? Who's wrong?
I nod my head in silence,
as I ponder poems and histories.
I fold my hands, keep them clean.
I'm as poor as can be,
yet elegant, and free:
the wind freely flowing...
Wine this morning, drunk by noon...
this finite cup is empty.
Some shore is promised to the turning head
I turn and find cold sea.
Dust flies.
Suns set, moons wane:
My friends, white haired, and few.
If wine doesn't get me then poetry must...
spirit wars with spirits, poetry with wine.
All year long I idle with the breeze and moon,
a useless man.
But poems and wine, the music
of the truth within.
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