Prose of Life

Tell me the tales
as lores
Yarn me the hints
on moon-night...
Da Prose of Life
Counting aloud may hurt
but do it
Mounting the high may harm
but do it
The fallow between be the gem of awe
tread it
Da Song of Life
The shallow will dread
and follow cheap leads
The complex will read
and borrow tough leads
Da Prose of Life
Soon, there will be dreams
Noon, there will be screams
One for fools
the other by fools
Da Song of Life
Which way each day is cast in poems
foretold in lores
retold in plays
by a million tongues
Da Zing of Life
Which day each way is cast in prose
foretold in robes
resold in trays
by a thousand souls
Da Ting of Time
Then, willy nilly, we all return to life
as though the world be torn
be worn
or won
What a prosey world!


My friend from Poland-Germany, and master of words, brings this envelope of thoughts quite pungently: Oh, it's the prose of life, my friend!

The more I've toyed with it, the richer...the riskier it whisks. In the philological streams it oozes, I found the world waltzing aloud, dancing on tales. Alas, we all burn the stakes sometimes...not telling, not counting, not kneading! And then we demur.

Even tonight, I can't help but dream. Tough aloud. Yes, dear friend.....It's the prose of life!!!