"I sing for the past; in hope to wail for the coming future."

He says.

What of the present?
I ask---
And what of the passing time?

The glass freezes; rends
and the raindrop---
The doorbell, and th' songbird;

The mannequin moves,
And stops to listen

To the roses and
the dandelions;
Promises and---
The ever lying
lilacs,

Then walks unturned,
To ignore; yet again
Steps'n turns unvain-
ly; the floor churned

And he was sold to the ever inconstant.

Laughter upon my lips,
Ere my ears it slips
along it falls,
And silence fell;

Always.


"Envy be me."
I thought.

"Pity be you."
I last heard.

The door closes;
The mannequin speaks.