And now I was walking down the steeps of Avernus into Shickshinny, toward the smoke of torment that ascends forever. Underfoot was spread the same dark leprosy that yesterday had stunted flower and fruit and grass-blade.
I hated King Coal still, but not so much as of yore.
WHAT THE SEXTON SAID
Your dust will be upon the wind
Within some certain years,
Though you be sealed in lead to-day
Amid the country’s tears.
When this idyllic churchyard
Becomes the heart of town,
The place to build garage or inn,