Serpents lie And worms with apples are abundant. The gravestones cry o'er empty sockets filled. The roots are fled. Bones turned to dust Are lacking in fertility. Cities decay, And crumple down, Bleeding, bleeding, Empty bled.
Fires burn to ashes.
Ashes fall to dust. Voices cry As they must With cities crumpled On their heads, Raising the dust. All is said. Life is just. The rose is dead.