Smoke lay bitter on the tongue of God,

Gray as the smell of failure, gray as the silent seas

Gray as the land, the sterile land - etched

By white bones and twisted, char-coaled trees.

Words with no tongue to speak them are no longer words

But these made the failure: idolatry of self, and hate

Out of the hearts of man flamed the cannibal fire

And the quenching tears of God were shed too late.

That, in a mound of ash and bone, was a child

With sunrise eyes who loved the laughing wings

Of birds, and the sober occupants of field and woods.

Screaming, he died - with all these small and guiltless things

Smoke lay gray and bitter across God's face

He watched a dead world drift meaningless through space.