As the smoke rises from the houses of the dead <br />The dead carry their dead from the bed to the grave <br />The sound of a drum beats in my head <br /> <br />Their actions are more valuable than the sounds they make <br />More livable than the oaths they take <br />More promising than the sounds at their wake <br /> <br />Their lips do n't utter the single sound <br />Which by faith would they be unbound <br />They stand below, burrowing in their filth <br /> <br />And every evening as the tide rolls in <br />They board a train for the Hope's Eternal end <br />And get off at the town of Slavery and Safety <br /> <br />The two names bond, in the secret of the dark <br />Though the passengers can n't see its dreadful mark <br />And before dawn are on the train toward the high Hill <br /> <br />I do n't want to die before the world ends <br />There is a train eternal, a train nocturnal <br />And it's always night in the City upon a Hill <br /> <br />The eternal dead souls eternally wait and follow <br />I watch, and am become like a sparrow <br />That is alone upon the housetop <br /> <br />As the smoke rises from the houses of the dead <br />They are ghosts wandering in their misery <br />Back and forth daily, on the train of eternity<br /><br />Annie Cordelia Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/b-i-am-become-like-a-sparrow-b/
