Ode: Tales Poem by Lihle Shezi

O, thou blithe Norse.
O, thou theatrical English man.
Does every blissful ending
Need to be told by Fairies?
Or, doldrum old women
Gather infants with little
Imaginations and tell it to them?
That living is worth more
Then breathing itself.
O, doleful foe of life,
when the time comes to hang
Yourself, for, us all, hang along
With you 'death'.
For, upon her absence
Peacefuly a fish rest.
Tree's take a long nap
and Children Of Earth
Are raised by their biological Fathers.
The gestures of dole graveyards
Will be similar to the rhetorics
Of opera theatrical nights.
A night with its dreams,
Is but a play.