ASH FRIDAY

At times
We all mourn lament and grieve
For people and places we have had to leave
We feel empty desolate and bereft
In a world in which there seems nothing left
As filled with an atavistic fear
Of the liquid that he cannot go near
A dry dipsomaniac his voice in full throttle
Sings a threnody to an empty bottle

I have found a way to fill the yawning hole
By the assiduous searching of my soul
And realising the futility of despair
That teaches us
“To care and not to care”

 

 

Harry Lupino
Painting William Blake


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