I look upon these traces with regret

                     Of younger days would not to be forgot.

                     That weighted droplets keep our temporal lot

                     When them decease to mortalty's attest!

                     Each whisper summons me into as yet

                     Immortalty determinedly would not

                     Assent. Disquieted Adam's sons begot

                     Who cry primeval yearns immortal rest.

                     Lament and stammer, weep for certain loss,

                     For innocence so soon whose debt is called.

                     I wrap myself in that unfolding cloth,

                     A tapestry enfolding history, all

                     With skillful boast, long wherein men have sought

                     For hidden meanings, embraced their destined call.

 

 

J Nguyen Knight