And when the means of reckoning
seem, but a smokey fiction
as the subtle strokes of artistry
fall prey to Time's advance,
When lenses cloud in sympathy
while, the known, becomes a stranger,
When sleep, an honest partner
leads that, favored slower dance.
When all is gently called away
to where it all began....
 
It is a child who breathes his last
in the image of a man...