Morning Mist - Poem by John Farnsworth
When the bomb is dropped may i be so near
my somber sullen soul be turned to ash.
Let loose to drift upon atomic breeze.
So fortunate to pass in brilliant flash.
I have conversed in verse with fools by night,
yet spent some goodly hours in scholar's light.
Still none of us have chanced to be so wise,
as to profoundly simplify demise.
So let my form be crystallized on stone,
an imprint in the earth for you to find.
That you may call me brother when alone.
If not, then pay my epitaph no mind.
When fair course calls for me to sit on trial,
let me speak! (and free of sweet denial)
So that my wings be spared by right of hand
To soar on pleasant breeze above the land.
As slumber's daring dreams have often done,
let not my spirit flee, as morning mist.
But to all time eternal, cling, as one
as do our thumbs and fingers to our fist.
Let us be stirred to life and raise a toast,
to some most gracious and most doubtful host.
That we be blessed with some good temper yet.
As well as future sunrise and sunset.
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