[ Circle ]

August 7, 2012

Be collected; no more amazement.
—Shakespeare. The Tempest

My friend, let’s fill the bowl with wine.
For here lies Cold Mountain, the poet that some
would say I was. Stick out your tongue.
Taste the breeze. Tell me what you see.
There never was a man named ‘Mountain’.
There never was a mountain named ‘Cold’.
The sparrows still circle overhead.
There never was a rut in this old road.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: