Poem: XXXVI: The Closing Gates

Instead of perfume there will be rottenness;
and instead of a girdle, a rope;
and instead of well-set hair, baldness;
and instead of a rich robe, a girding of sackcloth;
instead of beauty, shame.
Your men shall fall by the sword and you mighty men in battle.
And her gates shall lament and mourn;
ravaged, she shall sit upon the ground.
                                                          Is.  3.24 ff

but these things won't happen to me
no
they won't happen to me

it's too late
for that prophecy

it is the first day of spring
and I am immortal