RAINY SEPTEMBER

This rose for all the world

For you,

These tears for all the dead,

Those empty words of morning tide

This ever-present dread.

Those cloying smells of perfume,

On the dresses of the rich,

This workman stumbling,

Homeward:

His body in a ditch.

September’s moon still shining,

On this old planet’s doom,

Her wind and tide conspiring:

A chill invades the room.