This Day is growing for the serving drones;
The time of empty homes and worry stones.
Apollo’s ember now burns here colder,
Ragged by Hephaestus’ icy hammer
Humanity’s renowned virtue belies Hope,
Vanity, ousted by a crueler note.
Rung from the un-tuned
And hung from gallows in the Arty Bower!
Death’s gentle irony affixed pleasure—
Let the Meek take the lead measure;
The hive is ridden of plastic followers,
The Queen has died; the nest is hollow-er.