poetry

crab

Not for the forethought of it

        Hold steady the door:
    Not for the forethought of it,
But because he sees

    What you’ve done with what
        Was left to your silken siege.
            He forgave what you

            Lacked the death to ask;
        You wear the courage of his
    Sleeves in your ev’ry task.

Yet honor hollow
    Pours empty into your ear,
        For you but follow.


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    Poetry: Gloves
        https://windstrewn.com/2017/12/06/gloves/


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