Once more. Look: a spent old scarecrow <br />shrivelled face <br />straw-dry shadow <br />swaying like a leaf <br />bending and swaying over books. <br /> <br />Once more. Look: a spent old crone <br />weaving and weaving <br />knitted stockings <br />mouth full of curses <br />lips forever mumbling curses. <br /> <br />There’s the household cat <br />has not moved since I left, <br />still dreaming by the stove <br />playing cat and mouse <br />in his dream. <br /> <br />And as ever, in darkness <br />the spider weaves <br />hanging its web <br />full of swollen fly corpses <br />in the dark west corner. <br /> <br />You’ve not changed: <br />All old as the hills. <br />Nothing new. <br />I’ll join you, old cronies! <br />Together we’ll rot till we stink.<br /><br />Hayyim Nahman Bialik<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/return-36/
