Digression

Irish dancer, here I sit On a colonnade of stone Writing whispers to the wind Never meant for flesh and bone What once had definition Never lostits form to fly But found our love less painful In a box and left to die I will if you would beloved, Offer daylight to our fears Take pity on our pastimes And the 'wisdom' of our years But pity moves the heart to love Like a bard who has no tale The taverns give no quarter, But would see a gleeman wail