The End of Revolution
Hey love!
Wake up!
The night is dead.
The flowers you perched
At the warm youth of love
Have withered in disgust.
Their putrid scent of might
Has shunned its pungent delight.
We’ve suffered an ordinary lust.
Wake up!
Hey love!
The sun is upon us,
Lingering at our window
Of ignorant bliss;
Daring to stare with sardonic slight:
“Ah! Two naked bodies cloaked with plight.”