The moon is but a golden skull, <br />She mounts the heavens now, <br />And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms <br />Are wreathed around her brow. <br /> <br />The Moon-Worms are a doughty race: <br />They eat her gray and golden face. <br />Her eye-sockets dead, and molding head: <br />These caverns are their dwelling-place. <br /> <br />The Moon-Worms, serpents of the skies, <br />From the great hollows of her eyes <br />Behold all souls, and they are wise: <br />With tiny, keen and icy eyes, <br />Behold how each man sins and dies. <br /> <br />When Earth in gold-corruption lies <br />Long dead, the moon-worm butterflies <br />On cyclone wings will reach this place— <br />Yea, rear their brood on earth’s dead face.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-the-hyena-said/
