What with all we were, in retrospect, we find it wanting.
What with all we’ve become, upon reflection, we find it passing strange.
What with all we hope to be, we realize the ebb and flow of liquid time,
And through this flux of the spheres, we know a beginning and an end,
To define this mortal existence as brief and precious.
As such, we must look beyond the realms we see and feel,
Permit our imaginations to take their flights of mischief,
And transcend this prison of flesh and bone to a world of beauty and light,
By grace to be born again.