I was walking down a dark and lonely road
There was no one to know
That the worms were up, and looking for prey
They’d had it, they said, with the dews of the day
with bits of sweet sway.
Bid me or kid me, but ask me to stay
For the kittens long dead still seek sorted play
And nothing’s worth nothing to those who solely stray
Combined all present, strange messings of days
Slow. No. Though we must forgo
All the forgone frenzies of yesterday
The eternal May
And Heaven help the heapings of weepings that make true Mays
Nothing but fleetings and meetings and fine spring frays
These are the frothings.
This is the whey.