"Windy Pilgrims"

Little Cherub in a young glass house
I know the smell, know it so well
of Rose and wood and old stained books
and love never found

Crowded palace and I fear solitude
He speaks of a solemn man with
the last name Biedermann
I wonder how she’s drawn

All roles are played
Mine of Prufrock’s apostle
Familiar places in crowded faces
A marvel of marble in steps taken

I ask a child of yesterday
if our pupils differ
He responds, “Never mind”

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