Once young and care free Dylan Thomas,
with a memory all green of his greener days.
The self proclaimed "king of the trees" and "prince of apple town".
Who once, rode heedlessly with careless feet
Among the barns and calves under every new clouds.
Revered and honored by the foxes and pheasants.
Alas! the Lamb white days are but a sweet past.
The reality of adult is a chain,
the chain that binds us all
to the sea of earthly thing.
But what is this called poetry?