Lastly

• Hannah Kind, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2014

The words we wrote were carved in stone
But stone crumbles

The mark of where we rest are crossed with wood
But wood decays

The days will pass when our empire will fall
And we will fall with it

And as the sky that night did descend
The sound of the sorrow contrived into song

The earth shall die because of our illusion
That our folk could gambol with it for so long