Cornucopia

Dreamt the horn o'plenty, there to dwell forevermore;
An ort to spare for last and least; the busy dumbledore
At fruitful labor, seeds to feed, eternal tide of life;
Abundance spilt on tabletop; no hunger, pain, nor strife;


Intrude the shriveled upturned claw; emaciated eyes
Bend the brow, disturb the sleep: appalled by crass disguise;
Let's pray 'twas but a phantom, a mere omen to forewarn;
These nightmare shadows dimly glimpsed must surely not be bourne;



The stony faces by the sea beheld the fall of kings;
Mill wheel, tower, inkwell gone! No harper left to sing;
And now our cornucopia emits a sickly scent;
Look, ye children! Mark ye well: our bounty doth ferment!