The Old Hills' Indifference

The old hills' indifference The paths that lay forgotten The skeleton weeds And the never-dry, rough, long grasses The ruins of presumed meaning The impossibility of stepping Rose-crowned Into the darkness The promise of equalizing putrefaction To return to the bosom of mother earth like frightened children yearning to fall asleep on the withered bosom of their decrepit mother and to sleep there forever Death makes things appear as they are Abject impermanence The old hills' indifference.