Sometimes it seems we were brought here only to mourn

–That all our happiness, our future plans,

Are fruits of the salesmen’s lure to ‘get us in’,

To have us bid more eagerly in an auction

Which (despite the glowing ads, the bonhomie

Of the salespersons and the boisterous auctioneer)

We will, in due course, find ourselves lamenting:

‘This fabulous dwelling!  Those rooms, the views!’

Appear as mocking echoes to us as we finally drive away,

Outbid by younger buyers …

                                                    It’s then we feel

Regret for ever daring, once, to suppose

We could out-bid futurity and stay

Forever in this mansion made of clay.