ALL THAT'S FLESH.

All That’s Flesh

All that’s flesh is wrought of flesh,

All that’s bone is wrought of bone.

Bone and flesh mingle together,

Forming a xylophone. 

The music that’s in the tone,

Goes together as if going on forever.

All that’s there is mourned of flowers,

Are burdened by light, and wrought with powers. 

In the season of the flesh,

The folding of night is pushed inside.

Just like a blessed mesh,

The heart and joints will not abide.

All that’s flesh is wrought of flesh,

And all that’s bone is wrought of bone.

You put everything together in a mess,

And hope for the sound of the bone.