A Grave, On Which To Rest From

And Lilies Are Still Lilies, Pulled By Smutty Hands, Though Spotted From Their White.

Yet How Proud We Are, In Daring To Look Down Upon Ourselves!

Will That Light Come Again, As Now These Tears Come...falling Hot And Real!

My Patience Has Dreadful Chilblains From Standing So Long On A Monument.

It Is Difficult To Get Rid Of People When You Once Have Given Them Too Much Pleasure.