Tuesday, November 04, 2014

Cob Job

Look at you old man, they've shorn away your ears
as you stand gaunt and crooked midst the remnants of your peers
a weary husk too withered to be healed by shedding tears

yet unapologetic for the furrow that you walked
refusing to be swayed when someone favorably talked
a victim of the soulless scythe by which we all are stalked.

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