If the prophets who foretell my life
Foresee the nature of this sullen yoke
Would I be forewarned to avoid such strife
For ever? No, my love! I would not choke
Back the words that bind my path to yours
Through thick and thin and textures in between
Nor give you exile from my strong amours
(Powerful, unyielding, just a bit obscene)
Yet prophecy is weak; a stronger bond
(We do have world enough! We do have time!)
Must grow apace: those verses that we conned
Shall reap, in love, their deficit of rhyme
To love with every future quite unknown
Extol our richest blossoms -- yet unblown!
|P, Roland, Grayman, E Greejius, KT, Bop.
|14th February 2000.