This dreary
anniversary
wakes me
to repeat
the stale tale
of five cycles
and riddles
of eternity;

am a sentry
counting out
misery in
grains of sand:

when our yesterdays
are epitaphs
and tomorrows
unexecuted wills
thrills and drills,
and life a long
and drab ballad
of wrinkled days,
let the sexton
toll the sullen bells
for a cold
anniversary.