This is the land of the dead:
Beneath these cubicles
Of earth and stone,
They lie in measured plots
In sweet decay _
Even the ones I love;
How willingly they bait
The worms that feed
On them, so silently -
With touching unconcern.
This is the land of the dead:
How blissfully they sleep
In sweet commune,
Beneath the crummy earth.
Yea, e'en the ones I love;
While hushed and all alone
I of the living cry
Beside the silent grave.
F.N.
There is no ebbing the tides of
lonliness... it comes in huge
wanes, relentless
