Through the leaves appears an eerie gleam, The setting sun – so red, so wild – so bleak! And now I hear the rooks, so crazed they seem, They screech and scream, “‘tis death to come!” they shriek! A cloud of gnats above the pond I see, They frisk and frolic – in glow’ring light they dance; A cloud of dancing specks - they seem so free, A dance of joy, so brief, then death perchance? The sun’s outraged, distraught - what does this mean? “So crazed with life!” the screeching rooks reply; The gnats, who danced in life, faced death unseen, And on the water’s surface now they die. What augurs now for peace and joy in life - For us in times ahead, with ills so rife?
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