How this strange quill hovers upon strange parchment,
Poised and aching in this world’s ether.
What happy words to mock these deepest currents,
What larking action to cover these sharpest edges,
Where now to forget what was remembered?

The storm and smile rest now,
Forever where light dares no longer shine;
Of laughter trill and calling,
He’ll remember well.
Of words frail and falling,
These will not grow old.
Here now the final act,
Once more to scratch in queerest ink,
That ancient,
This apt;