After all this time the moon still casts.
The light reflects just as it has
since British soldiers rushed with yells
and met the mud where they coldly fell.

The colossal sea still beats the shore
with the same immensely strident roar.
Water runs salty where rivers drain,
and blackened clouds, still loud, remain.

The stars compliment the evening chill,
while wind carves the sand still,
as wings in which again contest—
birds the gusts of time forget.

Flowers advertise the life they carry
as the flush of Fall fails to vary,
and the snow to follow does thus,
As cold and pale as anything ever is, or was.