what's o'clock
201
A RHYME OUT OF MOTLEY
"I grasped a thread of silver; it cut me to the bone—
I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone—
I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade—
And this was the bargain God had made
For a little gift of speech
Set a cubit higher than the common reach,
A debt running on until the fool is dead."
I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone—
I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade—
And this was the bargain God had made
For a little gift of speech
Set a cubit higher than the common reach,
A debt running on until the fool is dead."
Carve a Pater Noster to put at his head
As a curse or a prayer,
And leave him there.
As a curse or a prayer,
And leave him there.
