It did not snow over, although it snowed,
Through the winter storms,
The roads into the past & the past roads…
We did not wound, even though we could,
The ancient clocks;
But the memory is beckoning us beyond the boundary;
There, beyond that boundary of eternal & corruptible,
On the borders that lie in the dust,
We were unable to see the Blessed,
We could not see the Sacred!
People, don’t be afraid of your Memory,
I believe – it lives among us!
I know – the blessed hour will come
& the memory, not once, will make us remember all who left.
