Ashes Poem by Robert Macdonald
Ashes
You ask for help
You think it’s real
But in the end
You’ve just made another deal
You shave the beards
Of your hapless kings
You free the birds
Then clip off their wings
Oh do the phantoms
In your head
Do they stir?
Oh and the radio songs
That you know
Oh and the first time
You zoned in on a face
Oh when the ashes hit the snow
Friday, November 13, 2009
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11/4/2025 6:08:39 AM # 1.0.0
