the crime of play
I knew a man once neither
old nor truly young who read
the ulysses like poetry
on a glaring sunday afternoon
this has become a rarity
I think that joy of speech
you might say that I lack
in morals to begrudge
a minor issue such as this
amidst the cruel pains
and deathly deprivations that abound
forgive me if you can
I only offer in defense
some passion and some joy
and maybe this good things
grow greater if they’re shared
Gedichtblog 