“The Seasoned Stock”

“The Seasoned Stock”


The seasoned stock will wither at the thought

Of new proprietors, newest gains, evidence

Of miraculous change in what becomes the cadence

Of an afterthought, inevitable axiom of precedence caught

Short by those who must acquire knowledge wrought or bought

From experience, a bouquet of hardened blossoms in residence

With traditional seed that were yesterday’s weeds whom no fence

Can rule and no conscious quota contain; closures sought,

Nothing short of disproportionate grief must be the end

Since no one here survives the downfall, albeit biographers abound.

Some well-meaning muse once said to me that magnificence abides

In waters’ rampant fluid stance upon these dried sands, their presence hides

But evanescent progress insofar as what is persistently profound attends

What is in fact a deadly witness that what is lost is always found.

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