Leer at Lear

Forget not to forgive
things you don’t see,
mother’s milk
on withered lips
flatter old fools
into helpless babes;

A thirsty dotard crown
begets nothing
from nothing
except putrid fruit
from a worm-eaten
tree.

Alas, maggots
supplant brains
and flies for
the impertinent guile
of an overstayed welcome;
just rewards to the knave
believing old age
unnecessary.


YVNIII 4/09/09