Engraver's Song

Poemata, V

Ev'ry word an epitaph
That we wrote on our behalf
What was sown in dignity
May be raised in irony;

How much time then must we waste
Just to try to make our case
For a judge we'll never see
Can this be posterity?

God twice wrote but words of ten
This alone to govern men
Moses broke the first, because
Ev'ry man does break His laws;

In the dust He wrote they say
What it said was washed away
Does the Word have aught to add
With our letters, small and sad?

Write away, intelligent -
Are your scribbles heaven-sent?
I will fill this glass to full -
I know mine own are doggerel;

Drink it deep with me my friend
Understand your writing's end
Write in stone! The time is soon
When it will but grace your tomb.