OH THIS RAIMENT
OF GRAY IS
RUNNING ME DOWN
OF GRAY IS
RUNNING ME DOWN
And the clatter which runs through this
axle disconcerts my hearing anew. There
are no birds of this nature about, and nothing
I've ever heard comes near. Let the clatter
rumble, if such a thing is here.
-
Wind in the trees, or the running trickle of
brook - those are sounds I recognize; they
have the words of a language all their own,
yet one I've somehow mastered alone.
-
I'll take my chances listening. Owl
of night, with Wisdom breaking,
would you claim this world you see
is bright, or quaking? If you do not
choose to answer me I will simply
ask again. So pick your planet now,
and drop your frown. Oh this raiment
of gray is running me down.
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