The day of fire is coming, the thrush, <br />will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket, <br />the beetle will sink like a giant bulldozer, <br />and at the breaking of the morning the houses <br />will turn into oil and will in their tides <br />of fire be a becoming and an ending, a red fan. <br />What then, man in your easy chair, <br />of the anointment of the sick, <br />of the New Jerusalem? <br />You will have to polish up the stars <br />with Bab-o and find a new God <br />as the earth empties out <br />into the gnarled hands of the old redeemer.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fury-of-earth/
