Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.

Covering each turkey
In a warm saltwater bath
Then fixed myself a coffee
Listening to birds begin the day
With their turf-protecting concertante
About 7:40 patting each dry