A World Around Me
Never far hither,
Nor the green shoots
In the rich soil.
Yet the rotting souls
and fragile limbs of death
are closer still.
Where does one go?
In such a world as mine
When the blinding gold heavens
Dry the tears of agony
Upon the gray roads.
And when foul decay
Buries you alive,
What is just for one to ponder
In a world so remorse?
Yet the soft fingers of an angel
Doth touch my heart so
and keep me living
All the while.
