In the despair
And rise of the Budva
I feel again the bleed.
The rending of lonely being?
The heritage that you agreed.
The carols, two peddlers,
And someone paid for beads!
And smokers.
And cycling signs of feets.
Someone’s retiring,
Or doing bad.
And ice, and sky,
And evening dancing time.
That’s all around!
But no one spills the bean.