The piers are pummelled by the waves；

    In a lonely field the rain

    Lashes an abandoned train；

    Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

    Fantastic grow the evening gowns；

    Agents of the Fisc pursue

    Absconding tax-defaulters through

    The sewers of provincial towns.

    Private rites of magic send

    The temple prostitutes to sleep；

    All the literati keep

    An imaginary friend.

    Cerebrotonic Cato may

    Extol the Ancient Disciplines，

    But the muscle-bound Marines

    Mutiny for food and pay.

    Caesar's double-bed is warm

    As an unimportant clerk

    Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK

    On a pink official form.

    Unendowed with wealth or pity，

    Little birds with scarlet legs，

    Sitting on their speckled eggs，

    Eye each flu-infected city.

    Altogether elsewhere， vast

    Herds of reindeer move across

    Miles and miles of golden moss，

    Silently and very fast.