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Come join and form a company
To view the world's infirmity
Above the fog that gropes the walk,
Beyond the nattering and talk
Just you and I below vast sky
Will chase Picasso clouds on high
Where every hue is bled straight through
This flimsy mist of rainbow dew.

The scent upon the air entices
Passions to a frantic crisis,
Right before the footman's laugh
When Angus cows give calfs a bath
With heavy heads hung low today,
Inside white fences painted gray.
Would it have been an imposition
To discuss the inquisition?

While women read young Chekov plays
Before the Bolshevik parades.

Now after every sip and drink
To make us feel that we both think
Of politic philosophies
And other grandiosities.
We then pretend meticulous,
At times, almost ridiculous,
In fact we act like we are tools
For all the sycophants and fools.

As we grow old and far less bold
Our lives remain both bought and sold
To mystic merchants who must face
Their future lives in sad disgrace;
Yet weak our voices long have been
Within our own sad mortal sin,
For long we lingered by the sea
Awaiting our eternity.

While women read young Chekov's plays
Before the Bolshevik parades.

Learn more about this author, Tom Mcmurray.
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