Gold mouths cry with the green youngcertainty of the bronze boyremembering a thousand autumnsand how a hundred thousand leavescame sliding down his shoulder bladespersuaded by his bronze heroic reason.
We ignore the coming doom of goldand we are glad in this bright metal season.
Even the dead laugh among the goldenrod.
The bronze boy stands kneedeep in centuries,and never grieves,remembering a thousand autumns,with sunlight of a thousand years upon his lipsand his eyes gone blind with leaves.
