Joy is a moment. Every moment ends.
Time flickers past and most of it we waste.
Nor can remember every peach's taste.
Death takes away the laughter of our friends.
Last more than bronze? Perhaps, but art will die
all tongues are stilled last speaker in their grave.
When houses burn, it is our child we save.
Perhaps some years, but deathless is a lie.
God too, but if there is, they do not care.
Sparrows are just as precious as your verse.
For conquerors oblivion is worse
than losing. No one knows that they were there.
These perect instants fragments of some whole
that never came together to console.