The voice droned on…..
A buzzing stream of dates, events
That flowed above our tired minds
And I stared down at the desk
To those places where the well-worn
Smoothness of the wood was marred
By a million little epithets
Scratched and etched by restless pens.
And I thought of how each
Was a lesson in history:
The history of each hand that carved;
Of the mind that guided the hand;
Of the dreams that led the mind
Into the looming, looming future.
