The oldest were the first to feel the sting
Of death, designed to dash a hopeful spring;
And fear would stalk the land of righteous men
To bring them low, ere they could sin again

Then power passed from many to a few
Of what remained, they said “It all came true!”
Their minds unmoored from that which made them great
(while chains were forged behind the garden gate)

“Tomorrow we will do what needs be done”
They chanted underneath the cursed sun
The last were still as foolish as the two
Whose children would revile the right and true