We look, we strive, enquire, we cannot see
Into the fog that time has wove to shield
Past days from us — Some things never revealed
Shall ever be to us a mystery —
And of you, many talk to some degree
And to and fro with evidence they wield,
And for or ‘gainst with joy too ill concealed
They argue this and that as their decree —
And you ever remain a silent stone;
From you, no utterance, truth nor denial —
Your voice is lost, your flesh has gone to bone,
You cannot speak the manner of your trial —
For one as you whose life is all but known,
Mayhap tis fair your death is yours alone.