Why is it we see the dead abroad
When nights curtains pulled toward
And when it parts we breathe relief
As though the stillness was closing us in
Then we welcome the bird song
As if heralded a present for us all.
Is not time one seamless unity
Bereft of meaning, plodding on
Nothing stays those hands, not even pity.
But when we watch them, they drag along
And in the dread of night
They drag as if, it would not end.