(A sonnet looking forward to Expo '67 in Montreal)
The snow-shroud settles comfortably About the corpse: the city sounds groan down To a deeper note; the measured beat Of a muffled drum calls Come!
Come one come all to Montreal, Shuffle in uneasy ceremonial Around the bier, and squeeze a conscientious tear: One hundred years, an unconscionable time a'dying.
Still it was a grand wake we had For the old man and him lying All dressed up in his Sunday best. Now
from his slow Corruption, under the vast innocence of the snow, The customary miracle may bring A brighter leaf come Spring.
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