I have a song.
I am dismayed
composing music for glory
when everyone
hates my tone
my gin and tonic sorrow
They make notes
to hate me profoundly
They are like cats
when I sing like a bird
In my dreams, I
can sing and dance
But I awake to
lions’ prowling hunger, to
impending death for this
lamb whose stomach growls
To be eaten
is unpleasant.
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
