A match in flame
An unwilling conveyor
For the metamorphosis.
The wake, what was, not gone
But forced reaction to forcèd change,
Compound of the spark that started it.
What, then, to resist the blackening?
Arms may be taken, but by opposing
There is no end in life.
The sees and hears,
And the feels,
Stay in the mind.
But under blackest and most ruined shell,
The dearest and most loving heart may dwell.
enanram 