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To be everlasting

By August 8, 2019 No Comments

As the red waters recede to dust

And white sponges grow arid,

What use is it, of these inside?

Inside – this passed on hollow of a frame?

 

Not to rot away under the dirt,

Or cinder up in a furnace or pyre,

But to enliven a dying

Or breathe in a new life.

 

Not tomorrow or the day after,

Not next hour or two later,

But now…

When our waters run high,

When our sponges are soft,

When the sparks run back and forth,

When our pump is in full thrust.

 

Donating one’s organs makes you nobly immortal.

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