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The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
| Although I shelter from the rain | | Under a broken tree, | | My chair was nearest to the fire | | In every company | | That talked of love or politics, | | Ere Time transfigured me. | | | | | | Though lads are making pikes again | | For some
conspiracy, | | And crazy rascals rage their fill | | At human tyranny; | | My contemplations are of Time | | That has
transfigured me. | | | | | | There’s not a woman turns her face | | Upon a broken tree, | | And yet the beauties that I
loved | | Are in my memory; | | I spit into the face of Time | | That has transfigured me. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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