Any man's death could end the
story:
His mourners,
having accompanied him
To the grave
through all he knew,
Turn back,
leaving him complete.
But this is not the story of a life.
It is the story of lives, knit together,
Overlapping in
succession, rising again from grave after grave.
For those who depart from it, bearing it
In their minds,
the grave is a beginning...
Ended, a story is history;
It is in time,
with time
Lost. But if a
man's life
Continue in
another man
Then the flesh
will rhyme
Its part in
immortal song.
By absence, he comes again.