Epitaph of a Soldier.

I laiye, a Shaddow of my previous selfe,
Here in the Chilling Darcke, the Frostie Canyon.
On all sides Darcknesse, and no Globèd Wealth
Of Peonies nie to comfort me with Sweetness;
No flowering Almond Bloomes to give me Hope,
No Jun'per wreathes me round Impermeably,
No Love have I, like Clytie's Heliotrope,
No Lilly of the Valley restores my Smiyle.

Above my head there sits a shiny pebble,
A drop of alabaster on the road,
And on the stone there balances disheveled
A rootless Dahlia, gray from lack of care.

A Thousande years agoe, in this Polluted
Concrete Sarcophagus where now I lie,
A mason laid a limestone block, uprooted
From subterranean Pluto's Sumptuous lair.
Inside that Block three Seedlings, Silent, Waited
For this instant in time. See how they Thrust
Their way through Mortar, Dust, Earth. Now they've sated
Some Devil's Dark desire to see me mocked.

A goat stands silent behind a broken pane, staring down at me from his height. He shifts his hooves, letting the deck of cards tumble back to earth. They drift down on me. I close my eyes.