3 Responses

  1. Doug Tree
    Doug Tree April 5, 2014 at 6:34 pm | | Reply

    Ha!
    Perfect!

  2. Ben Leet
    Ben Leet May 7, 2014 at 4:45 pm | | Reply

    Janet Lewis, a poet, penned this:

    Time stays, they said. We go.
    They moved through Time as through a room
    Under the great arch of Betatakin.

    We cannot hear their voices
    What words they spoke
    To echo here, to rise along the walls
    Of this steep canyon,
    Are gone; and yet the jay,
    The warbler speak their notes
    And the wind blows, whirling the aspen leaves,
    Brushing the thick short needles of these pines,
    And by the path
    The small flowers still are bright —
    Vetch, bluer than turquoise,
    Clustering white stars;
    And all the leaves are new, early in May,
    Small, perfectly shaped, each to its odd design,
    And gleaming; and the porcupine
    Climbs from his tree with easy slumberous grace.
    His quills shine in the early light,’
    A halo, as he goes Into the mist of green.

    Time stays, the canyon stays;
    Their houses stay, spit rock
    Mortared with clay, and small.
    And the shards, grey, plain or painted,
    In the pale roseate dust reveal, conceal
    The patterns of their days,
    speak of the pure form of the shattered pot.

    We do not recreate, we rediscover
    The immortal form, that, once created,
    Stands unchanged
    In Time’s unchanging room.

    This poem works best if you read it about three times.

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