The Old Volcano

The old volcano sputters and coughs,
Shudders into a predeath dormancy.
It once was a virile, volatile thing,
Brimming with lethal volumes of lava,
Shaking the ground and hurling missiles,
Brimstone bombs that ignited night airs.
Now, turning inward, it shrinks and collapses;
It barely can manage a steamy moan
From its fumarole-pimples.
Pathetic, aged lump can't incite a tremor
In the tourists that frolic across its flanks.