The rains fell on Babylon,
the rains fell on Jerusalem –
so the poets said.
May the rains
fall unceasingly
on ancient Rome,
may they somehow continue to fall
forever
as one poet
said,
or at least might
in my imagination
have said
before dying
from an attack in the street late one night while going home.
The circuses, the crucifixions,
the wars, the conquests:
nothing to
praise as
the rain
falls
relentlessly
on ancient Rome –
still nothing to celebrate,
not even in the art,
nor in the poetry.
What
reigns
now? The
the rains’
reign.
(In memory of John Riley)
.
David Miller
.