When the sun shouts and people
One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of
And the iron age; iron the unstable metal;
Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the tow- ered-up
Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.
Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time, kind rains will cure them,
Then nothing will remain of the iron
And all these people but a thigh-bone or so, a
Stuck in the world's thought, splinters of
In the rubbish dumps, a concrete dam far off in the mountain…
