This cave stores a resounding thump,
Its rhythm speaks to the snake of people.
This most respected and strange dump
Smells as if it were a dancer’s steeple.
The home of nutrition and health
Has become an abode of dragons,
Spitting fire on a lump of cheap wealth,
Stored somewhere in their wagons.
Mother of pestilence comfort me,
Night has robbed a tavern of its age.
Even my old comrade, I now see,
Has found new suitors to pay the wage.
No comments:
Post a Comment