Poetry A Day

HAD HE AND I BUT MET BY SOME OLD ANCIENT INN,

WE SHOULD HAVE SAT US DOWN TO WET RIGHT MANY A BOTTLES.

My Take is the Spirit of Neighbouring. Or perhaps in a Hospital Ward ?

Any Other How?

Irony , are you , Also named Fate ?

The Queen, The king, But not before the Old queen . A son!

THE PM, barely a Month ago, had warned the all !

Some of us might lost, Dear One, or Two. So be ware o’ the fiend.

Blind Childish Fate , Treacherous lrony, Playful Life to protect .

Have They singularly sort to protect the Crowd, And have they left, Themselves, laid bare, O’ ?

Have you changed your name without ? Neither : Ceremony , nor Records or Data it seems.

FATEFUL FATE , in IRONY WRAPPED.

“TIME HAVE, MY LORD, A WALLET @ HIS BACK,

WHEREIN HE PUTS ALMS FOR OBLIVION,

THOSE SCRAPS ARE GOOD DEEDS PAST; WHICH ARE DEVOURED AS FAST AS THEY ARE MADE, FORGOT AS SOON AS DONE:

KEEPS HONOUR BRIGHT:

TO HAVE DONE, IS TO HANG QUITE OUT OF FASHION,”

(Thus for our sake, (DEDICATION & COURAGE)

To All Our Health Staff, Soldiers, Carers , Retail staff & All The Delivery Army. (GOD SAVE THEM ALL)

Where are your books ? That light bequeathed, to bring else forlorn and blind!

The eye it cannot choose,but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; Our bodies feel, where’er they be, Against or with our will.

Think you, ‘mid all this mighty sum Of things forever speaking, That nothing of itself will come, But we must still be seeking ?

‘Then ask not wherfore, here,alone conversing as l may, l sit upon this old grey stone, And dream my time away.’

Tell me not,in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem.