Classic poem of the day
Death, tho I see him not, is near
And grudges me my eightieth year.
Now, I would give him all these last
For one that fifty have run past.
Ah! he strikes all things, all alike,
But bargains: those he will not strike.
Member poem of the day
Rings, what are they ?
Those gaudy gem encrusted things displayed by those in places high and low.
Or on the other hand the kind that pricks the ear when one is half asleep.
Incessant earworm.
Authentic ring,
eternal ring, engagement ring.
I wore this lustrous band or should I say it wore me out,
ill-fitting token of affection that no longer fits.
Finger swelling pawn shop cast off,
fools gold object ...
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