My name is etched into the bank's clay,
all of the molecules of impure water
will erode my letters from such a marker.
The trees die, and so do their carvings,
falling to a moldy pile of a weakened sappling.
I will be forgotten.
No effort can leave my name in
ink upon all of the trees,
and their trees
and so on
ad infinitum.
I will die; so will my name-
How vain am I to think I am special?
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
My name is etched into the bank's clay,
all of the molecules of impure water
will erode my letters from such a marker.
The trees die, and so do their carvings,
falling to a moldy pile of a weakened sappling.
I will be forgotten.
No effort can leave my name in
ink upon all of the trees,
and their trees
and so on
ad infinitum.
I will die; so will my name-
How vain am I to think I am special?
