Wednesday, December 19, 2007

the moon looks down and has to sigh

The moon looks down and has to sigh
At how we mortals motor by
Beneath a dark indifferent sky
Like frantic ants --

With smiles set on each frozen face
We dash from place to frantic place
Like sinners after holy grace
Or lost gallants.

Stampeding through a combat zone
Of cars and buses, steel and stone,
Surrounded and yet still alone
Away we fly

In search of money or renown,
A lead-pipe cinch, a golden crown,
And up above the moon looks down
And has to sigh.

Matthew Wells, 12/17/07

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