Too often forget, and too soon, who above us
Brush the dead leaves from our mounds,
Scrape the moss from our names,
And feel safe,
They forget that one day in the year our earth becomes ether,
And the roots binding us loosen
As Peter’s chains dropped for the Angel,
In that old story they read there;
Forget—do they seek to remember?—
That one day in the year we are with them,