Words in TreesMy words are clothes to keep my psyche warm
Against the cold of Night; I gird my lines
And hurry forth against the chill to form
My loquacious garb - the Emperor shines.
When I was ten, at night I ran through trees
With nothing on but shoes and skin and speed.
I pause these years at shoulds and woulds of these
Proprieties. I forget when I have need.
Should I cast these words aside? The chill
Does not taste worse when I have silent kept
Vigil for the days I used to fill
With youthful excess as in ferns I slept.
No words can clothe Imperial lack of taste;
Perhaps their lack I should pursue in haste.
copyright 13 December 2000
by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw; Chattanooga.