The Old God looks through his binoculars, closes his eyes,
His prodigal son won’t come back, new lands are better.
He got empty-handed, but his heart makes all arise
Lord’s new handiworks, which him always have to gladden.
The Old God again knits his eyebrows, then deeply sighs:
“Where’s Lot, and why has not he been taken out of Sodom,
And where is his salt wife, and where are last trumpets’ sounds?
Where’s Lazarus? How can he ever be not at home?”
The world seems to differ much from what it should have been.
So, maybe his eyeglasses have got completely fogged up,
Or possibly Old God should not have fulfilled indeed
His project. It was an idea to be demolished.
The Old God squints blindishly into the dawning sun,
He sees the first street-car’s side in the distant bluing:
“Hey, you, go ahead! Tell me who I’m talking to”.
The world is still hurt even under the shroud it securing.