By Norman Nathan
If for a day or one more lifetime
every grave relented, and here in this cemetery of genius
all arose, ready to return
to what they did best,
a hundred conductors
would wave their batons
each demanding to lead the orchestra;
and who, among the multitude of soloists,
would sing in a chorus?
and in the neighboring cemetery
disgorging the ordinary,
would most corpses, revived,
look vainly for the gifted
to rush over and show them what they should do
while demagogues jump high on gravestones
shouting their lies as they lord it over
their more than equals?
