OPTIMISM
On that cold table, where shameless, without blushing
They spread their nakedness,
I see what yesterday had been a living beauty
And is to-day a corpse—
A flimsy mass of tissues and of juices,
The prey of autopsy to-day,
To-morrow prey of worms and dissolution.
And whilst the perfume of this lifeless flower,
Concoction made of chemicals and death,