Horace Flemming

A single sentence composed on a cold clear morning 
in the Winter of 1999. 

     In the still dawn
     as the old
     are driven from their beds
     by swollen bladders
     and aching heads,

     and some sleep on
     never again to see 
     or feel the sun,

     at groaning banquet tables
     in magnificent indifference
     the gods sigh - 
     and yawn.

     HF