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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