Attempting to balance the cantankerous with the 'poetic', here's something
just done. From a sequence usually titled something like "Songs of my
Heart", which I've perverted to "Outrage" . . .
Trevor
***
From Ruan Ji, (210-263 CE)
7
A month
to go
inside this summer
furnace:
young leaves wilt,
sweet resins sweat;
the cool clouds stream
across the sky.
Seasons no sooner
in than gone,
moon and the hunting sun
run on.
Pacing, pacing
desolate halls,
grief knowing
no friends
can yet desire
true company
could cancel
want.
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