I look at men in the height of their youth Building towers that will scrape the heavens, And I know—as do you—that their towers Will crumble and fall into noiseless dust.
I look as men in the height of their youth Go running, running, towards or away, Through voids and empty black stretches of tar And I know—as do you—that they will die.
Look with me beyond the void of highways, Look at a home, at a soft touch, at a Memory passed to children, and you see— As do I—that which alone reaches heaven.