Beyond our present stratum
On plains ensconced with thimbles sway,
Does yellowed and ochred age lie
Entwined yet estranged in arms so young
As misty night-grief.
Warm my toast as black as death
And mutter incontentment as you would like
But not until the last ember has fallen
Will you realize the vendetta of a passing cavalier.
In Paris and Ure they gallop free
But over shiny glass the hooves slip:
An artificial redemption for one
So prompt as greed.
Heffers speak as die their calfs -
From a cold yawning they are awakened
And all you do is stamp and mutter;
How pleasing propped our idleness
Which now lies fallow
Shaking with hoar and frost,
As you sing and drink away another year.
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