A sun veiled in gossamer
shines over
roadside salesmen
as we roll into the city.
They wave rhubarbs and
myrtle blooms.
We have come from summer days
devouring berries
sweet and ripe.
Hungry in the courtyards,
the feast would come our way.
Now this dust;
these waving blooms.
And this faint, sepulchral thought
that every dog has had its day.