Live Sweet Austere

Within the limbs of each thing at which we stare

.   both I and you endearing us to the sweet

heart of time will tell, though even as a tear  

.   rends and falls unto the page whose meanings tease,

throbs an echoing recollection of east.

.

.   Its truth, lest pain abide, is just to restore

what was lost once willingly, as leaves to trees

.   when the chill and dimming year makes them assert

their tenacious mortal wills to live austere,

.   though why to live is just more than any treat.

.

In vain and vital the impulse to arrest

.   the moment, monument its lapse, so to see

below above behind affront the full stair

.   of being human, of minds that bodies seize

on grave delights in passages unto rest.

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