A fragmented poem by G a b r i e l l e D i G i r o n i m o



I still hear the howling call of the midnight loon

Singing words that are wrong, yet notes so in tune

Starved, though he eats from a slotted silver spoon



How long before it’s just too late

When changes will resolve by fate

Until I leave, for you I’ll wait

But who will clear my empty plate?


Living, longing, lonely lusting

Forgotten memories needing dusting

Doubted doctrine, faltered trusting

Long-lost keys leave locks to rusting



Allons nager dans le brouillard

Rejoignons la chorale criarde

Dansons jusqu'à la nuit se tard

Entre les murs du grand gaillard



The fools are still dancing, the wise have all run

A knot tied too tight cannot be undone

The threads of this tapestry tale have been spun