Everything Flows And Nothing Stays.

To Labour Is The Lot Of Man Below; And When Jove Gave Us Life, He Gave Us Woe.

I Would Rather Be Tied To The Soil As A Serf... Than Be King Of All These Dead And Destroyed.

And Now I'm Using Sarcasm, To Confess The Whole Thing So Later I Could Say I Already Told You.

Now From His Breast Into The Eyes The Ache Of Longing Mounted, And He Wept At Last, His Dear Wife, Clear And Faithful, In His Arms, Longed For As The Sunwarmed Earth Is Longed For By A Swimmer Spent In Rough Water Where His Ship Went Down Under Poseidon's Blows, Gale Winds And Tons Of Sea. Few Men Can Keep Alive Through A Big Serf To Crawl, Clotted With Brine, On Kindly Beaches In Joy, In Joy, Knowing The Abyss Behind: And So She Too Rejoiced, Her Gaze Upon Her Husband, Her White Arms Round Him Pressed As Though Forever.

There Is A Strength In The Even Of Very Sorry Men