The cause is ours in (?)
The map or sap or content
Is sanded and bevelled,
The land lorn and levelled
By some unrecorded and powerful hand.
Which plays along the monument
And drums upon a plastic path.
The brave men and women (?) to God
And famous to all of the ages wrath.
Sang:
"Do you love me?
Will you remember?"
The snow falls above me.
Around the hand, the rerounders.
The event is in the hand.
Oh God.
Beneath a patch of grass
Her bones the old Dutch master hid
Will (?) to bias
And the ancient disguise,
Would the scholars surmise,
Was a mother and kid.
In turn with other daughters,
In dirt in other potter's fields,
Above them parades mark the passing of days
To parks where pale colonades arch in marble and steel.
Where all of the twenty-thousand attending your foot fall,
And the cost of (?) died for her lost in the idling bird calls,
And the records they left are cryptic at best
Lost in obsolescence.
The text will not yield, nor x-ray reveal
With any fluorescence.
Where the hand of the master begins and ends
I fell, I tried to do well but I won't be
Go tell the one that I love to remember and hold me
I call, I call for the doctor
But the snow swallows me whole with all flowy water
And the event lives only in print.
He said:
"It's alright,
And it's all over now,
And (?)
Is built unfastened
The boy was known to show unusual (?)"
And called a boy
"This older man confounding (?)
In whose employ contaminant (?)
Always a standard
To which the wise and honest so may repair,
To which a hunter,
A hundred years from now, may look and despair
And see with wonder
The tributes we have left to rust in the parks
Wearing red her hair
Stood up and to siege on purring mitchell depart (
)
For the Western front where I walk.
My God.
(?)
God.
I will the hunter to decipher the start,
And what lies, I know, the city is dark
So look and despair.
Look and despair.