have your steps brought you home brother have you seen again the silent tomb of our father the divine shade of our mother have you heard her whispered pad under the rotting beams of once elegant archways gardens reclaimed by earth and stone subsumed by vine the fields of men who lie in stupor taking succor from ashes unaware they have wasted to mere impressions crumbling mosaics and the silent banners of long faded triumphs lacrimae mundi the world has grown old and its tears no longer deluge in youthful torrents but crawl in procession stately and resigned as the glory is gone it fled while we watched with crossed arms proud and haughty stares upon our features and you and i brother will never be gods