Jan 30, 2015
Come, all of you who are not satisfied As rulers in a lone wallpapered room Full of mute birds and flowers that falsely bloom And closets choked with dreams that long ago died Come, let us sweep the old streets like a bride Sweep out the dead leaves with a relentless broom Prepare for spring as if he were our groom For whose light footstep eagerly we bide We'll sweep out the shadows, where the rats long fed Sweep out our shame and in its place we'll make A bower for love, a splendid marriage bed Fragrant with flowers a quiver for the spring And when he comes, our murdered dreams shall wake And when he comes, all the mute birds shall sing And when he comes, all the mute birds shall sing
