Mother
Strangled you, lay beaten blue
The fellow you claim, who would do you good,
did.
Mother
Strangled you, lay beaten blue
The fellow you claim, who would do you good,
did.
Home
I had given Suffering, weary and drunk,
a place where it could rest its dead beat head.
x
“Once inside you may find a bed…
It is the one with sheets washed and pressed,
and pyjamas, neatly folded, resting
as peaceful as the dead.”
He smiled, not as clueless as he is toothless and said:
“Is it a dead man’s bed, where I shall rest by down-trodden head?”
I turned to him and said:
“Would you rather care to share my bed?”
x