In idle dalliance now it welcomes weeds; Grasshoppers dance along its unused ways; A rainbow blur of flowers tells of seeds The wind had caught in care-free yesterdays. And resting close beside it, almost dry, A greenish ghost of what was once a stream Sags low within its muddy bed, as lie The broken things whose life is but a dream. In memory alone it suffers pain: Informal insect choirs and elfin brass Intone a dirge for all who wax and wane, A requiem for all who thrive and pass. Sometimes, beneath the moon, it wakes to see The rotted locks draw open noiselessly. |