25 Years

We got through this year and nobody;

We got through this year and perhaps.

On the day of the white crow somebody

Will kiss us and keep us, but this was not this year;

This year is over and nobody; this year is next year now.

Here is the hole in the wall. Here we peek.

Here is Chanticleer. We shall do everything but speak.

We shall bless, address, abuse-we shall not speak.

Had we to love or were we at fault?

We were confused, affection or assault

Proved only beasts will eat themselves or anything:

Let us join hands and dance around the naked king.

This year the creeping itch was apparent in the left hand,

This year perhaps it will sneak to the right, we will see.

The eye shivered at the slack it saw it did not understand;

The white crow never came to kiss us under the pear tree.

Twenty-five are pinching parents, poppy-addled, fed-on-us-

We wept our dusty latter thoughts, we stretched and

scrabbled loose.

O! the day of the white crow will come, when it will come

it can;

Then shall we shake our sticks, o years, in wicked triumph

then.