The Song

 The winds shall pass, the sea shall sing

The birds will feather, the ink will hide.

Yet the song must live on -

The one song that the songbirds sing

In lands separated by oceans of mistrust;

The one song that reminds of the cradle

Where men learned the ways -

Of life, of nature and art -

And smoked it all to ash and dust.

Thus lives the song, in his genetic ruins

Making him his own master, defying the Gods

Who once came to him, and whispered 

A tune that he was meant to miss.

So the man still strives to day

To master, to perfect the gift -

Forging friendships and death with passion,

Ignoring the bits that he would always do.

And thus the Gods live on

In the folly of Men, reminding them

What they could never hope to be.