2011-05-09
A hundred long years from now
Who art thou with eager eyes
That quietly sits and reads my verse?
Do you feel, from faded ink,
The joy of early springtime dawn,
The blossom of this very morn -
Can you hear the chirping birds,
Drenched in the passion of my time,
As you read in another age
A hundred long years from mine?
A hundred and fifty years from the blessed day you were gifted to this world, one can only say: Thank you kindly, Sir.