If timeless still the verses stand
body to body and hand to hand
clasping rhyme and embracing sound
the language lost, the meaning found
then can we help but to write it down:
the lightest laugh, the bluntest frown,
the leaf-vein green, the dewdrop, barely seen,
the fastest hold, nothing in between -
in tenderest words, inked on the delicate page:
there our sorrows, there our rage...
and yet all coming to self-ruination
how in things fragile we find our elation
should it all not last, and fade away
should our loves, and lives, refuse to stay
indelibly marked, carved into stone,
at least we know, in this we are not alone -
so come let us live, laugh, write and do it all,
until the day come each, in turn, we stop and fall.
