A vision.it reads:
Pausing while peeling a boiled egg
She said, is there more to life than this
Explaining away every last dreg
Of the good wine of virtue's bliss
So that men may feel not the kiss
Of death or responsibility?
The poet responded, I begin to think
Then men have all aspired to remake
In their own image, every last link
But without God, and therefore take
Control, but all men are fake
And empty without Him.
Then perhaps, she thus replied
What is, is far too much for these
And saying wanting more, have lied
To themselves, though each perceives
The terror and weight of even leaves
Drifting so lithe and gently.
He thought a moment and took a sip
And felt the warmth clasped in his hand
Fading as a man's last dying grip
Into the cold morning across the land
And said, Even we do not understand
The weight of glory and of sin.