In the shadow, downwind from the men
walks a stout and bright fellow in line
as he listens to sounds of Big Ben
he discards all his hopes to the swine.
In a mix of self-pity and reason
he aspires to give up his will,
to his soul (and her heart) it is treason;
he remembers his Hamburger Hill.
All he needs is the love of her caring,
it will fix the autonomy,
let us slay that sly beast for his daring,
his obsession with misery.
Let him ask what makes people survive,
where the flower is hiding its face.
One will breathe with contempt if alive
all while dressed in the comfort of lace.