Copyright 1996 by Gene Doty
The silver maple's new green holds weariness:
under the redbud, in clean dirt, only weariness.
Closing the window against thunder-laden air,
I see through the screen a passerby's weariness.
Qoheleth in his bitter book complains against the wind
and finds in all that's seen or heard endless weariness.
Come, wife, and settle your head on my shoulder;
on the pillows we lean and seek to dispell our weariness.
Gino, why did you write these tiresome lines?
Don't you know that verses only mean weariness?