THANKS
Coarse his voice, manner gruff, carriage haughty,
Hands decade’s toil worn, cut, broken.
Dues overpaid yet sought no refund,
Accolades hard-earned never came,
And ’twas when no more he spoke
Then canard’s fodder, they would not mourn.
Now The Answers Will Come
Some people do have that crazy hard life, but I would have mourned for him if I’d known him. Reading something like this makes me mourn a little for all those who got less mourning than they desrved.
this poem is compressed like the gentleman’s life..
I would have mourned..
you write beautiful words..
lynne
A portrait in contradictions, yet somehow, one feels the thanks are merited.
Just beautiful. Wonderful selection of words. Nicely done!
Oh, wow. I love the way you wrote this. The lack of verbs really gives is this cool punch, as if it’s somehow raw yet sophisticated at the same time. Great piece. ^-^
– Nick @ Whispers
what a hard life but sounds as though he works for it…i bet someone somewhere mourned…