GONE

To all those bards whose deathless words remain
Within the cognizance of living minds,
Whose artful labors were not spent in vain—
All praise from us, the unremembered grinds.

We followed in your paths and wrote and sang
But left no lasting tracks upon the soil,
Which swiftly turned to dust, as joy to pang,
And vanished in the wind with all our toil.

Yet even though our words have passed away,
To all posterity and glory lost,
They once gave us "a momentary stay
Against confusion," as did his to Frost.

And thus there's solace even writing this,
A bit of bliss before the vast abyss.

*