for Muhammad Ali
Death came
like the thief
of a fight
and laid out
our Champion
with a final
loaded right,
there’s a great
keening
in Kentucky,
a gnashing
of teeth,
and the poets
have nothing to say,
paper’s turned
to clay,
words float,
butterflies
in a ring,
but sting,
bees
consuming the Spring.
Very well done
thank you, patrick.
I always imagined that when Death came for Ali that he would do a Rope-a-dope and KO him off that white horse he rides…
if only
Very good tribute poem.
thank you.
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