Monday, November 22, 2010

Henry

Henry, in a tent, was born
So many years ago,
Henry, before old age, was worn
Yet his magic was wont to flow.
Henry was a soul reborn
Old but with eyes afresh,
Henry did cast his scorn
Upon the city-pressed stinking flesh.
Henry painted visions splendid
To all who could read or care
Henry's life so rudely ended
While he still had words to spare.
Henry props up the bar
In every city and town,
Henry is known from afar
As couplets, with spirits, are downed.
©