Coming Days

Some days will come,
When our ways will be old.
And the right to have soft quietness,
Will be very hard to hold.

All things will be a racing game,
No one will be at ease.
Life will be so topsy-turvy,
And no one will ever please.

Living only for one's self,
Will be the common rule.
And he that seeks to have a comfort,
Makes himself the biggest fool.

Earth will be a quaking abscess,
Seething with a rancid bud.
The moon will stand in dark suspension,
Streaked with putrid red of blood.

T'is a time decreed for coming,
When all worldly ways retire.
And the waste of men shall hasten,
In the flames unused by fire.

E.P. 1908 - 1989