A Rotting Sun

Observe the enthusiastic dead.

            Observe them.

      A carriage of them we will make

and fill their steady, boys, steady,

         with steady state.

The bodies we will make.

We tend to speculate

             on what they might have said

                         about their rotting.

                        Neither will the bugle wake them

              As the rotting sun is set

on that long day to say good-bye to all that’s good.

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