I stand where cast iron whiles the time,where gilded angels spin in air;the winds whip up the clouds’ high climb,crowned lions roar their silent prayer.I walk the old world’s crumbling stone.Each second rusts, then sounds retreat;the crust of past pains slips my bones,my heart thrums through each borrowed beat.I count the years with airy sigh,each twist of screw and homespun wire —I learn that time outwaits my tears,and cheers — because I stayed a while.
