The World—feels Dusty
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The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die
We want the Dew—then
Honors—taste dry
Flags—vex a Dying face
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand
Cools—like the Rain
Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes
And Hybla Balms
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch
The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die
We want the Dew—then
Honors—taste dry
Flags—vex a Dying face
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand
Cools—like the Rain
Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes
And Hybla Balms
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch