jambalacha
New member
I would not mind so much,
The dull colored pots,
the ratty, unraveling mats
Even the bones in yellow decay
If reason enough could be found.
For hours spent under hot sun
Scratching like chickens at earth
This is the chief
This is his tent
Looks at us know, look at them then!
Pouring over secrets,
Letters not meant to be found
Why this morbid interest
In affairs so far from our own?
If it changes us not
If it makes us no better
If it makes us no humbler
If it makes us no surer
Let them lay.
The dull colored pots,
the ratty, unraveling mats
Even the bones in yellow decay
If reason enough could be found.
For hours spent under hot sun
Scratching like chickens at earth
This is the chief
This is his tent
Looks at us know, look at them then!
Pouring over secrets,
Letters not meant to be found
Why this morbid interest
In affairs so far from our own?
If it changes us not
If it makes us no better
If it makes us no humbler
If it makes us no surer
Let them lay.