Shall we again plunge into the muddy waters of creation,
And bathe our souls in the witty spell of the Ancient of Days?
Wherein the gallant adder camps like a platoon in a faraway nation?
The shepherd’s sheep now munch stones, they seldom graze.
Shall we again bask in the tomb of utopian tenderness,
And breathe into our lungs the odoriferous air of love and loyalty?
Dawn chorus in light, Requiem in darkness.
Today’s bond, tomorrow’s frailty.
Shall we again drink the famous milk of Antonio Vivaldi,
And soothe our taste buds with the dramatic gloom of yesterday’s violin?
From the fallopian tube to Rome, and then to Normandy.
Life’s ultimate reward: the beautiful carcass of a weather-beaten dunlin.
Shall we now don the incandescent regalia of life’s affidavit,
And loathe the endless depth of our infantile colic?
Alas! Those tears of despair that weaken the spirit
Will continue to live long, older than the oldest relic