in a strong-box
grows bored which is not permitted
Nothing on earth to do
and it doesn’t know how to swim
It’d really like to take the air in the middle class fashion
but it’s not a citizen
and the towers fall down with a racket
mystifying the echoes in their cellars
so they think to lock up their treasures
But the spiders aren’t treasures
and if they hide it’s because they have nothing better to do
and don’t know how to play chess on their cobwebs
because there’s not enough dust
In this grey rainy weather
that makes numbers drop off clocks
They roll through the stream
and behold time lost forever and ever
So what good is lemon juice