Not only the changing of the seasons
Are buried during the Earth’s rotation
Numerous times again around the sun.
The tide will also take our creation,
And cover it with the beach’s fine sand
To compress it into a hardened stone.
History will take this forgotten land
To turn it to a place where plants have grown.
It will take a man with a fine-haired brush
And the patience of the centuries lost
To push away the silence of time’s hush,
Reminding us of a past that we tossed.
The mosaic that once laid on the floor,
We can now admire like once before.
John Collings 