to Robert Frost,
of course
Whose house this is, I dare not say.
He will not see, he's far away.
He's never coming back from Rome.
On every track I'm free to roam.
To plunder, blunder, - it's a maze.
Go, wonder boy, and steeple-chase.
Some obstacles are really steps.
And even heights are sometimes depths.
A track played backwards, is a mess.
And fact is fiction, it's like chess.
To hold your colours you don't try.
Displaced, defaced, disfigured - I,
dyed-in-the wolf, but still a sheep.
I got no promises to keep.
8 июня 2016 г.
Playing colours
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №216060801677
Свидетельство о публикации №216060801677
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