Organic
Where has gone the old,
and chivalrous
and virtuous?
Know not I, neither do others.
Among the dank and muddy lie
an old and worn out alibi,
I suppose it shall be.
Whence up the stairs,
and up and up,
lost all is fair
and good
and whole.
The willow weeps,
but weeping doth not solve.
For organic and pure
makes not a match
for fire.
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