~Esther Mitchell, 1988 ~
Mortal lips have never told,
what mortal eyes do behold,
but mortal hands and mortal works,
is where Eternity’s power lurks.
Immortality can never know,
what wealth passing on may sow,
Never imagined are such things,
by those who, of Eternity, sing.
The briefest glimpse, as fragile life knows,
allows imagination to open the rose,
The sweetest lines are always made,
by those only briefly in Life’s shade.
No care do immortals have of creating,
for they will never feel breath bating,
and they have no desire to make,
for they do not have to cling to life or break.
No, they do not see even a glimmer,
of what, to mortals, shimmers,
for theirs is not an ending dance,
and they have no regret of lost chances.