#veil uplifting

[orenstern]

as though our Roses

There goes a man without a plan

He used to be the oil can

He laughs as loudly as he can

To mask the hollow he calls grand

While tears and sorrow are sown to land

And wheat folds into a hard chaff sand

Or so he’s wished our thoughts to stand

against the nose’s powerful gland

as though our Roses bore no Plan

6-2-20