They\'ve passed away, those strangers from my youth.
Young men grown old; their time curtailed by truth.
They sailed away, as tide turned, unconcerned.
The seasons shrugged, as borrowed bodies burned.
This land of dreams makes dust of breathing things.
Looks on unfazed, as commoners and kings
go one by one into its silent soil.
At rest, at last, from unromantic toil.