summer rains' quiet incantation, the animals come and go,

                    in the far-distant, the snow melts as the river flows;

                    time is a demon

                    the animals know.

 

                    It’s looking for you, y'know:

                  ...in the abdomen – demon go

                  ...in the albumin – demon go

                  ... in the acumen – demon go.

 

                  Yea, in and around all things, all the time, ye know,

                  the serpent-slick, sick soothsayer sayeth so:

                          O! why do the wicked prosper?

                          O! why do the innocent die?

                          Gold, frankincense, myrrh,

                          Yea! the bigger the lie

                          The louder her sigh.

 

                         Ye know the many works of the demon:

                           fear, disaster, pillage, rape,

                           greed, complacency, self-serving 'fate.'

                        Yea, even in the comfort of this April-blossomed morn,

                           with this dew-bejewelled early green like Adam’s dawn,

                           even here the viper yawns.

 

                       So sing ye the songs of stormy autumn,

                       Weary riverman, floating down the sleepy old Lethe,

                       So sing ye the passing strangeness of the night,

                       Weary riverman, whispering in this failing autumn light.