B() |() |() I Am Become Like A Sparrow/B Poem by Annie Cordelia Adams

As the smoke rises from the houses of the dead
The dead carry their dead from the bed to the grave
The sound of a drum beats in my head

Their actions are more valuable than the sounds they make
More livable than the oaths they take
More promising than the sounds at their wake

Their lips do n't utter the single sound
Which by faith would they be unbound
They stand below, burrowing in their filth

And every evening as the tide rolls in
They board a train for the Hope's Eternal end
And get off at the town of Slavery and Safety

The two names bond, in the secret of the dark
Though the passengers can n't see its dreadful mark
And before dawn are on the train toward the high Hill

I do n't want to die before the world ends
There is a train eternal, a train nocturnal
And it's always night in the City upon a Hill

The eternal dead souls eternally wait and follow
I watch, and am become like a sparrow
That is alone upon the housetop

As the smoke rises from the houses of the dead
They are ghosts wandering in their misery
Back and forth daily, on the train of eternity