Why do we mourn this murky day?
The halls of gods ring with silence;
divine Dawn’s not cast her rosy ray
to touch the marble floors and pillars,
nor removed the sumptuous curtains’ lay
from ere high windows to clear the airy way
for Sun’s keen steeds – no, not today.
Where is the jolly company of gods,
high in honour, that danced past ages,
itself ageless with immortal charms?
’till this grey day that reeks of loss
they gathered here unknown to harms;
each tear came light and dried with laughs
for perfect beings of omnipotent arts.
This heavy day observed ruin set
upon those who knew no fracture:
it smeared the pure with inner red
that signalled weakness for each eye.
A cloth brought in and wrapped around let
this urgent rumour run: a divine death
has turned high tables, all upset.