I write this poem perhaps my very last
tomorrow I journey to place alas
where rhymes are naught but misplaced errors
of judgment human and dark endeavors

tomorrow of you I'll think out loud
of humble beginnings on paper's texture
my pen did metaphysically jot
a line or two of cryptic pleasure

as the gore of humanity exposes its wrath
i'll sparkle you the motley crew
from fields of anger to pastures green
my digital poets whose magic sways

from afar your eyes will but surely glaze
upon a shimmer of a wine cup's toast
to england's forbidden and the wonder host
that in all of empire has come to pass