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The stumbling fool carries his prayer book
Confidently over the chipped stone step,
From broken pages ministered comfort
Falls on grief as required by contract.
His supervisory over-sight, fails
Far from the coal-face, lets indolent words
Scatter careless thoughts, dumps soil by the road.
Mawkish young things in modern tears praised him
Placing a veil over others’ silence.
The fool said custom foretold fair and bright,
And while most unspecified words are false,
Winter has returned to chill buried bones
And the churchyard cat has put off hunting.
Of yesterday’s tomorrow, what remains?
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