A spark takes a second
The fire lasts a little more
But a pebble is shaped over ages,
By waves beating upon their shore.
What the tide brings under the Sun,
It takes away under the Moon.
The scent of the roses in Spring
Was lost to the winds too soon.
Of what use now is watering a flower
Which already withered to nightly rains?
Of what good are the pardons you shower
Upon a slave who has died in your chains?
This bridge I was building
Collapsed before the mail van could cross
With this pebble I was gilding
That shall remain to you, an unknown loss.