By a decade, a day, an hour or perhaps a year,
The medieval man's faithful horse's trot
stumped my brain, amused this current ear.
Cradled in Now's sure hands' long reach,
it is hard to hark the quiet gurgle of History.
No cars, no fire, no invention, not even speech !
That there was such a time when all was mystery.
So foolish of this brain to Think now is forever.
Soon will come a time when we will be ancient,
This computer a kid's toy, this phone a souvenir,
Our "modern" ways old fashion, in a future present.
My Man, modern is but a word, don't take too literally.
Feel History's kiss, tender, passionate, or scary.
Reveal she'll, to one who listens, this perpetual story.
Your and Her work in progress - Mankind's symphony.
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Our history, for us, she spins
Our now, what we may become.
And how future eye imagines
Us, guess we may, for wisdom,
for finding posts and signs
to our address in Earth's kingdom.
But never ever forget,
O dear forgetful Poet,
In the longest scheme of things
- why that's history's history ! -
like a new diamond ring
pretty but carbon only,
(some twelve, thirteen some)
so are we specks lovely
of dust, flying casually,
In Time's vast vast Kingdom
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