Donald Hall - My Son, my Executioner
My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms
quiet and small and just astir
and whom my body warms.
Sweet death small son,
our instrument, of immortality
your cries and hungers document
our bodily decay.
We 25 and 27, who seemed to live forever
observe enduring life in you...
and start to die, together...
My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms
quiet and small and just astir
and whom my body warms.
Sweet death small son,
our instrument, of immortality
your cries and hungers document
our bodily decay.
We 25 and 27, who seemed to live forever
observe enduring life in you...
and start to die, together...
