How fast the days proceed us a daze, a whirlwind leads us fazed, and swift impedes us with all we hope to be our deeds and name precede us and swiftly find us on our way deft the hand of fate though, a torch to light the dying day maybe choice, heroic vision, or hope in darkness, dillusions make bright as some spark of divinity to split twain the world and indecision as alexander cut the golden knot knock! knock! at the doors of our perception but to spend an hour in infinite eternity! Swiftly go mortals, softly to their gods To heaven, like the flowers, in undying summer.