REQUIEM FOR A MODERN
Solo 1: To him the moon was a silver dollar, spun
Into the sky by some mysterious hand; the sun
Was a gleaming golden coin—
All: His to purloin;
Solo 1: The freshly minted stars were dimes of
delight
Flung out upon the counter of
the night.
In yonder room
he lies,
With pennies
on his eyes.