the old men by David McLean

the old men sat at dusk to wait for morning

discussing wisdom & where she lived

training all her barren children


to light one candle less than any tiny sun

inconceivable & easily extinguished

like a dream is.


they were good men & no doctors

or murderers among them, several

senseless they were together


night & all the absent dancing,

though wine is a memory

the happy tablet


there is no wisdom left us

& nor is their madness


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