Painting: Emil Teschendorff
not a word of what i write is true
it's just a passing feeling
and so i cannot hold you thrall
when my own skin is peeling
i've held askance my love from thee
i've worn brave masks and costumes
like most you've seen the writing then
upon my failing blossoms
i will last from spring to summer
then from fall to winter i sleep
wake me when my war is over
or the vines begin to creep
i'll make a noose of dandelion
i'll thread it with morning glory
it's all a temporary chain
of one poor vagrant's story
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