The Rise of A Walk

Marching bands, 

celebratory, 

lots of tons to sweep.

A sickening sweet dust of past, 

in leaving with the stench of new gasp. 

Oh what it is that you must weep! 

The graveyard dances, 

swings, 

plays, 

and caws. 

The goers sneer, 

their smiles drawing near.