Its the dreaded cityman poem again.Not to anyone in particular,to my friends,but also to ghosts too.
To All who came this way.
Sold on past failure,newly flushed with success,
my little apricot friend,
I genufluct,prostrate,truly bless.
The slavering beast,I can now forfend
his aimless thrash and cruel rend
thwarted,retarded,finally gainsaid
it comes to this,the fiend lies broken-slayed.
there were others too-they took this track,
Faced with hopeless odds,they were torn on the rack.
the cure was noisome,their future hung grey,
Poisoned with goodwill,few decided to stay.
the Bastard of the past is the child of the future,
Yesteryears poison sore is todays pure white suture.
many came before and battled with fire
we tiptoe over their wasted bones,
truly, they are our Sire.