Baptistery

Perfect circle, carved sightless busts
Guard the entrance, images caught in time.
Immersed in the past, the octagon within
Beehive of industry, collectively built.
Man goes home to his rest after work,
Drones dying as a worker seeks to be queen,
Royal jelly to anoint the newcomer,
A summer crown to rule the winter rays,
Reddened dome crowning solemn white walls
Logic of the loggia, that blind arcade
That will not see those before it,
Yet hear the voice of John the Baptist,
His voice crying in the wilderness
“Behold the way of the Lord!”