Cento Poem

Rain is falling through the roof, and all that prospered under the sun.

Half the day lost, staring at this window. In signing and dismay.

The rain tastes like salt, and rises in the streets like a ruinous tide.

We spoke of hours and hours; we talked and talked,

O! It drives all the joy away.

‘’You are old, man’’, my dear friend said,

‘‘And some of your hair have become very white’’

And yet you incessantly stand on your head.

‘‘Do you think, at your age, it is right?’’

‘‘In my youth, I feared it might injure the brain’’, I said,

‘‘but now I’m perfectly sure I have none’’,

Why, I argue it again and again? I shall keep my strength for myself; he can keep his as well.

I wanted to know just one true thing.

Will the rain cease or it will go on falling, and I shall wait for the rain to cease up.


You are Old, Father William – Lewis Carroll

Did I Miss Anything? – Tom Wayman

The Schoolboy- William Blake

Last Lesson of the Afternoon- D.H Lawrence

After Us-Connie Wanek

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