The unravelled tapestry
The song sung unaccompanied
The unfinished symphony
The valley wasted
On the artist
The dreamer too tired
To sleep
The writer picking only
Last will and testament
From a lifetime
Of words
All have joined
The ranks
Though they will find
Neither death nor
Glory here,
For this is the time
To put our backs
Into it,
To put clothes
On our backs
And food on
The table,
And we are all
The poorer for that.