Good morning. Nothing, you see, has quite the same longevity as stone. It is ancient when you’re born, it is ancient when you die, and it will be ancient when your great great grandchildren die. When nothing else survives, so the stone goes and lives on. Always there, perhaps changing ever so slightly, but always there. You may not last forever, but your sculptures will. Make your busts and buttresses. They’ll outlive you.
Saga of the Stone
So too, do all things, turn from ash and bone
to dust and stone
It matters not if you atone
For all is ash as dice are thrown
Turning leaves with the rake
Doing all this for your sake
It matters not if you will break
For all is bone as beasts awake
As bricks and timber start to quake
There’s no time and nothing to take
Flee, my child, there’s no need to shake
For all is ash beside the lake
Answer, answer please, the telephone
I only wish you could have known
There is no need for terror sown
For all is stone,
And you are alone
Poems by Sam 