To his Watch

71 of 73 · 1 min of reading

MORTAL my mate, bearing my rock-a-heart

Warm beat with cold beat company, shall I

Earlier or you fail at our force, and lie

The ruins of, rifled, once a world of art?

The telling time our task is; time's some part,

Not all, but we were framed to fail and die--

One spell and well that one. There, ah thereby

Is comfort's carol of all or woe's worst smart.

Field-flown the departed day no morning brings

Saying 'This was yours' with her, but new one, worse.

And then that last and shortest . . .

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End of part 71 of 73