EPITAPH FOR A GODLESS PEOPLE
A cry from the North, from the West, from the South
Whence thousands travel daily to the timekept City;
Where My Word is unspoken,
In the land of lobelias and tennis flannels
The rabbit shall burrow and the thorn revisit,
The nettle shall flourish on the gravel court,
And the wind shall say: “Here were decent, godless people;
Their only monument the asphalt road
And a thousand lost golf balls.” T. S. Eliot, “Choruses From The Rock.”
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