Tuesday 26 April 2011

Apology

For blows on the fort of evil,
That never shows a breach,
For terrible life-long races,
To a goal no foot can reach,
For reckless leaps into darkness,
With hand outstretched to a star,
There is jubilation in Heaven,
Where the great dead pots are.

There is joy over disappoinment,
And delight in hopes that were vain,
Each poet is glad there was no cure,
To stop his lonely pain,
For nothing keeps a poet,
In his high singing mood,
Like un appeable hunger,
For unattaible food.
So fools are glad of the folly,
That made them weepand sing,
And Keats is thankful for Fanny Brawne,
And Drummond for his king,
They know taht on flinty sorrow,
And failure and desive,
The steel of their souls was hammered,
To bring forth the lyryrics five.

So not for the Rainbow taken,
And the magical white Bird snared,
The poets sings grateful carols,
In the plac to which yhey have fared,
But for the lifetime's passion,
The quest that was fruitless and long,
Their corus their loud thanksgiving,
To the thorn crowned master of song.


BY FARRAH UMAIRAH KHATTUL ANUAR
Thanks For Reading (:

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blog ini hak milik 1k2(2011)