The sun goes down upon the Ankh,
\nAnd slowly, softly fades –
\nAcross the Drum; the Royal Bank;
\nThe River-Gate; the Shades.<\/p>\n
A stony circle’s closed to elves;
\nAnd here, where lines are blurred,
\nBetween the stacks of books on shelves,
\nA quiet ‚Ook‘ is heard.<\/p>\n
A copper steps the city-street
\nOn paths he’s often passed;
\nThe final march; the final beat;
\nThe time to rest at last.<\/p>\n
He gives his badge a final shine,
\nAnd sadly shakes his head –
\nWhile Granny lies beneath a sign
\nThat says: ‚I aten’t dead.‘<\/p>\n
The Luggage shifts in sleep and dreams;
\nIt’s now. The time’s at hand.
\nFor where it’s always night, it seems,
\nA timer clears of sand.<\/p>\n
And so it is that Death arrives,
\nWhen all the time has gone…
\nBut dreams endure, and hope survives,
\nAnd Discworld carries on.<\/p>\n
The sun goes down upon the Ankh, And slowly, softly fades – Across the Drum; the Royal Bank; The River-Gate; the Shades. A stony circle’s closed to elves; And here, where lines are blurred, Between the stacks of books on … Weiterlesen
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