Paul Hartal Poems
Oranges And Grapes
Oranges and grapes refuse to grow in the cold.
Today I sing and dance, refuse to grow old.
Yet all the same, time is tyrant and ruthless,
Unfolds my wrinkling years, it is relentless.
Now and then the lots seem to be gentle and kind,
But alloyed with fate the somnambulist is blind.
Luck and fortuity might act as a soubrette,
Life spins our fate like roulette in a film set.
Still, let us drink to life, celebrate, and be glad,
Let us sing and dance today, refuse to be sad.
Oranges and grapes do not grow in the cold,
A warm wind ties ribbons to maple ...
On a sunny day of Taurus
they cut her abdomen.
With stainless scalpels
the surgeons unlatched her uterus
and out of her slashed womb,
touching with their sterile gloves
the enigma of an enclosed but remote self,
they pulled out the boy crying,
covered with blood,