The Gildizenship

Today the snowfall guides

the plaza full of sighs.

The August sun stands full

and snow is thick as wool.

The sky's blue blots out gray;

today shall never sway.

The masses sip their tea,

on yachts in lulling seas.

And everyone knows well:

Pandora's box of hell.

A scratch beneath each gild

and both hells need rebuild.