Madness Resting
One day out of clear air,
I shall rend my rags
and cut off my hair...
Become one of those who
wanders from here to there...
No more flowers will I till,
hither on this hill...
Silence the work of my hands
Madness makes its own plans
It’s off to the dark Nether Lands,
there in its shadows to hide
and, perhaps I will ever bide...
No longer a piece of the madding crowd
...becoming invisible in my shroud,
...before my God, with my head bowed
©Faye Sizemore June 27, 2003
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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