Old woman forever sitting...

Old woman forever sitting

Alone in the large hotel under the fans,

Infinitely alone where around you spin

So many lives like painted tops,

Smearing the void a moment with their hues,

Giddily catching at balance as they pause.

What crime was yours, old woman,

What sin against the Earth

That she should give you now

A cap of dust and furrows on your cheeks,

And at the end

A hole dug in the mould?

Is death the promise of Fate's last rebound,

Revenge of Time that waits within the clock

And laughs awry at life,

For a kiss, for a dream, for a child that you bore,

For a fresh rose pinned to your bosom?

The owl is in your spirit,

Blinking through the oldest tree of wisdom —

And now your fingers are weaving

The cold pale invisible blossoms of death

Into a waxen wreath,

And Time

Sits down beside you knitting with quick hands

Grey counterpanes to cover up a grave!