In a summer gone by.
Many the tyrants, my city, who held thee in thrall.
What remains of them now?
Names whispered back from the dark through a portal ajar,
They come not again.
By men thou wert made and wert marred, but, outlasting them all,
Is the soul that is thou—
A soul that shall speak to my soul till I, too, pass afar,
And perchance even then.
Century Amelia Josephine Burr