Lasting Thought

.
What may flesh beget;
But more of it in myraid form.
What becomes time suffered man --
Feathered dust from which he’s born.

What lingering part of man’s flesh lives
To celebrate beyond the grave;
Only half of half and on,
As generations make him fade.

Not but man’s thought, fresh and pure,
Will keep his form forever;
Be it symphony replayed
Or reasoned new endeavor.

A thought, quite simple or complex,
Leaves lasting legacy of man
As others build upon it more
Or use it time and time again.

Think not your flesh a gift to pass
As it shall shortly cease exist,
Only mans immortal mind
Bequests a hope as pure as this.

by Rodney Crater

Copyright 2007 Rodney Crater