Am meisten gelesen ▸
Frank Marshall Davis
Today the rain
is an aged man
a gray old man
a curious old man
in a music store
Today houses
are strings of a harp
soprano harp strings
bass harp strings
in a music store
The ancient man
strums the harp
with thin long fingers
attentively picking
a weary jingle
a soft jazzy jangle
A mood whose heart was a flagon of ashes,
Met another mood whose lips were stained
With the odors of sleeping wine-songs.
The second mood kissed the breast of the first
And filled the ashen flagon with his pale purple breath.
Then the two moods died, and he who bore them,
Being an old man, sat down to make others.
In the Cafe where I sit
The four old men who look like bards
Are playing at a game of cards ;
And they are enjoying it.
They are so eager at their play,
They shout together joyously,
They laugh with all their voices, they
Are like the little boys you see
Playing in your nursery.
But they'd be angry, they would rave
And swear and take it quite amiss,
If you walked across and gave
Each a penny and a kiss.
Let me be monosyllabic to-day, O Lord.
Yesterday I loosed a snarl of words on a fool,
on a child.
To-day, let me be monosyllabic ... a crony of old men
who wash sunlight in their fingers and
enjoy slow-pacing clocks.