Dolor’s olde English archaic word
Feels sad even after our centuries,
A soft fine dust collecting invisibly
On and around centuries of living
And in tongues evolving over time
And green bench remains for olde
On whom dolor sits pretty in green.
Green is a Shakespearean jealousy
In eyes, monstrous and protruding,
Emotional deaths on tragic stages.
Dolor is green on old park benches
With dust on our bones and minds.