The hour of death is uncertain
This second could be my last, the black ink of my pen
Slide off the page, leaving this poem half-done,
A mistake in the universe, never to be undone,
Though all the other ages might pass by.
None other can complete my work, for then it’s no longer mine,
But I might never finish it either, for I know all men must die,
And the unkind universe has not shared with me my time –
Is it now? Or now? Or never? Or now? Or-
This week will see the conclusion of the Tempus Fugit collection on Friday. Today’s quote is, I think, my favourite of all the ones I used.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic