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Dave Bonta
a head to alter for the king
and a hand to set between us
like a used tool
we invent a new fashion
good for nothing but
to silver over age
who is concerned
for the foolery of fashion
green and pretty as money
we look at nature
and home in on business
sure of the owl
and the goodness of air
so cold and so close
this cruel discontent
we take to be a good servant
forced for the sake of wardrobe and fashion
to put on other things
getting my war paint
and the arch book of dances
the play of bans like news
made up well
I who cut patterns,
As every soul must do,
Fret myself with longing
For themes that are new.
All these fashions
Were moulded years gone by,
And, like the mask of politics,
Are coloured with a lie.
Even the treasured love motif,
This thing of you and me,
It must so carefully be cut
To keep us bound, yet free.
And death, the sombre casket
Of centuries of song,
And war, and rivalries and creeds,
These we have used too long.