The Day is Done

The wind blows so calmly;
The roses are in full bloom;
Invasions storm around thee,
Of weapons forecasting doom.

All for the air of silence
Of poetry and verse;
The great men and the giants
Have fallen to the curse.

For meaning has been lost
And tyrants' claim to fame
Is to scrape off all the moss
And make writers have no name.

For the ancient poesy is forbidden
And the serial of verse
Is given to the bidden
Of petty men rehearsed

Of a few stale phrases
And platitudes of mind.
The bold are off to battle
As the general crossed the Rhine.

And I realize now and forever
I have lost track of time.
But my poetry is my treasure
And is what kept me so alive.

My mind is filled with things
And the images of metaphor.
That is what made me happy
And what shook the world to its core.

To do a job I cannot, but I lend my skill to rhyme
Yet none will purchase my sorrows
For all want me working on the dime.
So I do not know.