Nocturne
The Noise is increasing on the street
in front of my decaying house.
The leisure class, the drunks
are awakening from their all-day sleep,
parading their obscenities and vandalism
down the avenue.
Another days is ending.
I am another day nearer to death.
Still, I have not found the tree
that is you, Daphne.
All the trees I walked by today
were not you.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Poetry Depth Quarterly
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