I walked behind his coffin,
When I saw his face among white flowers,
When I heard he let the poison in,
To excite the impulse of an empty age,
His obsession craved oblivion,
Yearning to calm his excessive rage.
He sat in that hut dark and deep,
Lined the tiny satchels in a row,
Then gulped them down to give him sleep,
No more to build on no more to grow:
A child outside played hide and seek,
And summer breezes wafted flowers,
Lovers walking by kiss gently and meek,
An old man dozes to pass away the hours:
We know so much, discount morality
This age of ours ignores its own mortality.