An ode.it reads:
As we consider each ancient hilla postscript is here written:
And every tree on them, standing still
The wind that passes them just the same
The river so old it needs no name
The sea and all lakes that rest below
And the mountain peak, gripped in snow
We wonder if permanence is like them at all
If they were young, what would we call
Them then? But three years old
Would we believe, if we were told
That the days would soon give way to months?
For even God was a child once.
"The earth lasts long and heaven abides -- what is the secret to their permanence? They do not live for themselves."
"To say that I love you is to say, 'you will never die.'"