Sitting in Michael's Lap
Without protest, in quiet dignity,
The final flickers of the flame expire,
And only leave a vague uncertainty
To mourn the passing of the cherished fire.
A sighing sense of resignation creeps
Like shadows lurk where once the flame forbade;
And once again the eye of longing sleeps.
In chambers where the dreaming heart is laid,
The raging rhythm now begins to slow;
Unhurried, though it beats with certainty --
It echoes as the embers gently glow
To mark the blaze in wistful memory --
Though ash may cool, a spark will ever burn
In silent halls where only dreams return.
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest