Doomsday

walking along the wooded path

i thrush and thrash the grass away—

i see decay in every way.

i hum a sweet tune and—

think of June;

the lonesome-lazy-summer-haze.

and off there goes a leaf in the wind—

as careless as a child’s whim.

and up a-ways there’s a Clearing ahead but—

i fall, and trip, and crack my head.

i lay down and frown—

as my blood seeps and soaks the ground,

and Doomsday commences to an

End.