Where the sun meets the moon <br />is where i lay now waiting for your doom <br />its been more than a year <br />and as even the wind knows, life to me was never more fair <br />at least here, i have nothing to fear <br />i am in good health, though worms chew my knees <br />and my hands have gone brittle, like old thorn trees <br />but that is just, i died at eighty nine <br />and of all my fine sons, my grave knows none <br />do not worry, i your father am not sad <br />shame and poverty, have always been my bed <br />on that bed me and your mother lay <br />and for that bed, you my sons will pay <br />i find solace only in what the pastor said <br />as i ate his bread and the beer he shared <br />'nevaro, the lord will raise you up ' <br />even from wood, stone and dust <br />and in this i now place all my trust <br />when my words reach you as it shall come to pass <br />please my sons, do not make a fuss <br />neither the sun nor the moon has yet risen <br />and the devil tells me, he still hasnt finished your prison<br /><br />tinashe severa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-mans-curse/
