A wind rolled away down a lonely street
Like silent thunder wrenching, reaping dread,
While an ancient man drew the covers up
To thaw old bones reclined on slatted bed.
Phlegmy eyes coughed into wakefulness and
Slid slowly in their sockets to his chest
And Oh! to hear that moan of sheer defeat
When the flagon echoed his emptiness.
His stingy warmth - printed, numbered; scattered
Like yesterday's news and flew with dire mirth
To dance a cloven jubilee of death,
As old boots, so weary, kissed their mother earth.
The wind rolled away down an empty street -
A whispering dirge borne on leaf-soaked cloud
And an ancient man resting, still as night,
Lies waiting, waiting, waiting for his shroud.