The longer thou livest, the more fool thou.
I
Go hide! Go hide! But through the latticework
Of my upraised bone hands
I see athlete and statesman, priest and clerk
Step forth as deodands.
Risking more than they know of life and limb
In playing Peekaboo-
Whose happiest chances couldn’t be called “slim”-
I’ve tagged each: ICU
II
Cry; baby, cry!
You’ve got two reasons why.
The first is being born at all:
The second, my peremptory call.
Cry; baby, cry!
Weep, baby, weep!
No solaces in sleep.
Nightmare will ruin your repose
And daylight resurrect your woes.
Weep, baby, weep!
III
Bah, bah, black sheep, you supply the needs
Plaguing mourners: stylish widows’ weeds.
Haute couture for all the fashion shows.
Black is the color of my true love’s clothes.
(Anthony Hecht)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Cry Poems, Sleep Poems, Weeds Poems, Babies Poems, Fashion PoemsBased on Keywords: stylish, athlete, upraised, livest, bah, resurrect, solaces, tagged, peremptory, haute, plaguing