o0 The Mockingbird 0o
Ill begotten hazard bore,
Before it all was hellbent lore,
To tour a house so drenched in gore,
A sanguine sweat in days of yore.
Beneath a sheet of icy snow;
As this there was, straight down below.
Against these evils toe to toe,
The wrath of She, I do now know.
Defendant there, I stood on trial; dreaming dreams in slow exile,
The verdict hung in justice perched about a safe-kept key and lock.
And as if somebody tricking, there came a tick-tock-ticking,
Recursive chant I heard the knock; the ticking of a broken clock.
It was in that March erratic, that I stayed there in that attic,
As I pined I painted piers and tiers about a stately wooden dock.
With my head so rife with tension, and my hand there in suspension,
I painted piers through pumice rock; out from the shore, a wooden dock.
"Confounded chant!" I'd soon recant, effusive rant, revolving scant,
up in the air, reverbing bare, a question fair: "What doth thou mock?"
Bey
ConquerorQuixote