Going the way of all flesh.
Ah, protection,
You fly to the four winds.
This thin ice we step upon
Deceptively does not give way
But throws away our balance
With hat and gloves bereft of purpose
Slipping into heedless oblivion.
No time even
For a backward glance.
© BH, 1988
Something for winter time.
A little whim from 30 years ago. Found when rooting around the archives.
Plus my little illustration.
God knows what I was thinking. Ah, but I was only 38!
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