The Old People's Garden
Malignant growth of ivy.
And unkempt grass,
because it no longer matters.
Beneath the trees an invasion
of fruitful Gothic.
Dusk had fallen, mythological
and toothless.
But the Minotaur beat it
through a hole in the fence.
The Icaruses were caught
somewhere in spiders' webs.
In the dawn's early light
the disrespectfully grey, insolent
frontal bone of fact
is revealed.
And it yawns without word.
Miroslav Holub, from Poems Before and After
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