Charles Gordon Rex

I call, but my finest thoughts come not out of their sanctum. Yet when I am silent, they quietly open the door And come to stand by my side. And I welcome them and rejoice That they have come, for I know not the secret of their hiding . . . . Continue Reading »

I hope to kill the fatted calf somehow, Before its youth is gone, and in its stead There stands a lean and empty-uddered cow From whom all festiveness has fled; Before its innocence, naiveté, Has, from neglect, been changed to dull, morose, Unfeeling gloom that holds all joy at bay, And with . . . . Continue Reading »

Restrained no more, the last rebelling man, Alone as he had always wished to be, Sole monarch of himself, with not a clan, Nor tribe, not state, nor nation left that he, Protesting, must obey, has sat him down Upon the last green acreage of sod And woven of the pliant grass a crown To show the . . . . Continue Reading »