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The city of the dead no sentinel
Has need of: golden leaves lie undisturbed,
Stone villas in their numbers strewn and kerbed,
No sound or issue raised, belong to clientele
More living here than dead -- the flowers can tell
The eye of recent visits made; unblurbed
The tombstone passages; now, unperturbed,
Departed relatives can sleep as well.
The city of the living swirls alongside,
As ocean depths to ripples on a shore,
This terra firma, land of milk and honey,
This salutary state of evermore:
Man's destiny, beyond the pale of money:
Sadly, my steps return me to the wrong side. |
