This, too, shall pass

 

By the power granted to me

to promise and swear, 

this too is history

By the warmth of blood 

and cool of birth,

this too is memory

By the chipping sliver of self

and a lifetime and a half,

I have crossed a river ago

By the bank on which I saw the people

and beings of light,

I've the one epiphany 

By the glaciers of desert burning cold 

and the fires in the north, 

whiteness of dark coddled me in mercy

By the ceaseless melody of torn strings

and utter quiet of ringing clocks,

this sane poetry remains in me

By the aid of preserved time

and perfect health of mind, 

I swear not, but recall

wise words many times said,

"That, neither, shall remain"