The Flower beneath the Foot

And suddenly the Angel of Death passed by and the brilliant season waned.

—Ronald Firbank, The Flower beneath the Foot

Spare the brilliance of the season,

Somebody Something with your tricks.

America had good reason;

It still survives—is there to fix,

But must be scrapped if hope is dead.

What might be left if it were gone?

The sun shines brightly up ahead.

There's golf, you know, Somebody said,

Whatever else the sun shines on!

Don't look at us—our plan is sound;

We’ll have a shelter underground

And will get through some "coming crash."

When all else comes to grief, there’s cash!

Pity though the hopeful young

Who’ll never see their battle won;

Will never gaze on land and sea,

And sigh, “All this, maybe, was meant for me!”

Thursday, September 3, 2026