Decay

The West Egg, the East Egg and in between The valley of ashes- bleak and barren, Gray, grotesque, decaying, and ashen, As those that live behind their wealthy screen. A slowly rising city of gray gardens, Gray houses, gray chimneys under gray skies. Like careless people who do not ask pardons And like the city are only a disguise. But above the gray the blue remains The icy blue which sees all below And knows that all who pass are masks Gaudy but grotesque on the fast moving trains. Those knowing eyes were left there long ago To see, to judge, to know but never ask.