The most important work I’ll do is write,
Should what I write enlighten and delight,
For all the rest of what I do or say
Shall quickly evanesce and pass away.
Yet all around me, volumes testify
That thoughts in print persist and may not die,
The more so as such books proliferate
Around the world for minds to contemplate.
Though nothing is immortal for all time
And we’ll revert to Earth’s primeval slime
Or vanish in a supernova’s burst,
Our atoms through the universe dispersed,
At least for longer than my life I’ll stay
And those hereafter know what I’ve to say.