suicide poem

as evening falls
very well, you liberals
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
sad are they who know not love
and still they walked on
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
better than granite
there is an hour of peaceful rest
why are the things that have no death
not from the whole wide world
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
when night drifts along the streets of the city