Keats

Bright star across earth’s hemisphere,

how do I praise what I cannot fathom?

Birthed in Autumn to leave just one thing here—

sacred Word. You lead me to imagine,

odes to fleeting things, trapped within life’s cage.

Still, you breathe with us, permanent through word,

with your soul, in ink, bared naked on page.

What bid you: write! Your success ne’er assured,

but beauty is truth in unfinished love.

And now the hourglass, grain by grain, drops.

Rest easy, sweet poet, you were enough,

ascend to sleep, where all the striving stops.

They’ll lay you to rest with daisies in Rome,

your name writ in water, steadfast as stone.