29.xii.22
1093
3.363
the lost days are precious
no clock to catch
a world in pyjamas
here’s the flinging of the towel
dive in
with only such lines as come to
me
windfall, unhunted
all we do is nothing here
it’s not even a place
no watch now
why fidget this?
but gild my cage
on just such days
lie low
take tick from tock
take a tip from the stillness
pre-gird
well one might even encourage a
breeze
and so set out to fail again
knowing I’ll go on
knowing I, among the millions,
must
still wear the Christmas crown
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