Each day another installment of the old
Romance of Order brings to the breakfast table
The paper flowers of catastrophe.
One has this recurrent dream about the world.
Headlines declare the ambiguous oracles,
The comfortable old prophets mutter doom.
Man’s greatest intellectual pleasure is
To repeat himself, yet somehow the daily globe
Rolls on, while the characters in comic strips
Prolong their slow, interminable lives
Beyond the segregated photographs
Of the girls that marry and the men that die.
-- Howard Nemerov, “The Daily Globe”