Daughters of time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars, and the sky that holds them all.
I, in my pleached garden, watch the pomp,
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily,
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I too late,
Under her solemn fillet, saw the scorn.
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My Poetry and Quotes
Some poetry that I wrote myself, and some I didnt. None of the quotes that you will be seeing are my own.
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