I thought that I might be the first to fall,
But not at all;
I buried them with saplings at their head—
The cold, the dead.
The lonelier I grew, the more I sought
(Yet never caught)
The murmuring of souls upon the wing.
No bell would ring
For those who once had rallied to my side—
To kiss, to chide.
Now I am as you see me, and alone;
An autumn drone
Outside a failing hive of paper vaults.
And yet, our faults
Were less than had we replicated chance—
We danced the dance
Because we never knew the world was flat.
We danced! Say that!