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* * *

From East a-walking
And Southward bound
I can't help gawking
As all around
The sunset's burning
Fires in the sky
So truly stunning,
You could just die.
I hear sweet treble
Deep in the woods,
It's feathered rabble,
Song-making broods,
Small wings aflutter
They squawk and chime,
"Die, die", they chatter,
"No better time."
I'm further coaxed
Along the way -
By country folks
Who smile and wave,
And somewhat prone
To simple speech
"Die, die", they drone,
"The time is reached."
I walk the farmroads,
I kick small rocks,
While local goats,
Chickens and ox
All harp on dying,
They've all gone mad!
I am not lying,
I'll stake my head.
And slightly shaken
I speak at last:
"You are mistaken,
My friends, alas.
You are a riot.
You are absurd.
I'm dead and buried,
Haven't you heard."
They stand astounded,
As in a trance,
To this announcement
They've no response,
And with a crisply
Gestured goodbye
I walk off briskly,
Back on my way.
My gait is proud,
I'm lord and king,
I sneer aloud
At everything,
The skies are sparkling,
Work's in full blast,
The dogs are barking,
Reach exceeds grasp...
Now through the morrows,
My soul, hail!
From a brontosaurus
To a nightingale,
Nothing is new
In your dungeon's sway,
A word rings true
And there's hell to pay,
Your lips be sealed,
My weary soul,
Onward unhealed,
My weary soul...