Epitaph

 

Outside the time of human facts

The dead come calling from the swamps.

The birds and butterflies don’t change.

The rocks once cast and carved remain.

 

The fears and sorrows flow like springs,

All down the ages stay the same.

And yours and mine are never lost:

They’ve found their place and blow like dust.

 

And these emotions, streams and hills

Are flesh beneath our shifting skin,

Are sight behind our blinking lids,

Are answers lost to truths and gods.

 

The swamps are deep and thick with snakes,

It’s there – in peace – we lose our hopes.

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