Subjects
From my bathroom throne
I overlook heads of trees
men for all seasons
who sway and still
like felt and feathered burghers
dependent on his lordship’s
words.
In glowering times
they cloak themselves in mist,
hiding like fleshless nerves
from courts and kings
and the kings’ best choristers
the birds.
Copyright © Bill Keen | Year Posted 2019
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