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Irony


Silence is approaching

Spurring skies with bronze stars.

Where have words gone

And who will now confirm

That green are the branches,

Brown is the soil?

Oh, you, modern knights,

How this armour irony is!

Insult does make on you a tiny scratch,

But the arrow is poisonous...

Soul disintegrates into atoms,

but you stalk

Dressed in shining dark,

Put on for the occasion

Your newest smile.

 

1967

 


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