← ALL POEMSMURMURATION
28
Twenty-eight
I'm thinking now
Of the figs from the awful story
How they tumble down
Hit the ground
In all their rotten glory
Of how I bloomed
A time or two
And now feel weak and withered
Of how I'm consumed
Afraid to mischoose
Beaten down by the paths I've considered
The figs once florid, ripe, and exquisite
Now rest on the dirt so hollow
So these days
Despite my youth
I do not bet on tomorrow
I'm thinking now
Of the figs from the awful story
How they tumble down
Hit the ground
In all their rotten glory
Of how I bloomed
A time or two
And now feel weak and withered
Of how I'm consumed
Afraid to mischoose
Beaten down by the paths I've considered
The figs once florid, ripe, and exquisite
Now rest on the dirt so hollow
So these days
Despite my youth
I do not bet on tomorrow