Why don't you try
To find contentment
To lose the lies
Without a shout
Of hurried innocence
Without your self professed
Experience
A rose is not sick for always
Just as the lamb is not so pure
Nor so sweet or lean
Nor is your tiger
With twisted sinews
Such a threat
To me
Why don't you listen to
Your echos
On the echoing green
And can't you find the sadness
In what will never be
Blake, my friend
You did not think
About the truth of
Of ultimate sin
So go and think
And write some more
Whilst still in death
I'll wait for you
Upon your echoing green
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