Repeater: a subjective poem
"I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."
One cycle follows the next,
June to December, December to June,
In the middle of this time lapse,
Amidst the loss of every hope,
Your unpleasant claps seem dull,
Sounding undervalued—clap, clap, and...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."
One cycle follows the next,
June to December, December to June,
In the middle of this time lapse,
Amidst the loss of every hope,
Your unpleasant claps seem dull,
Sounding undervalued—clap, clap, and...