We shine with but a brief and borrowed light,
from orb to orb reflected down the years,
a pale fire filched, rekindled, and passed on.
So too that which our loins bequeath
already bear the seeds of their own spawn:
We sow, as we were sown.
Lord, but a boon: again threescore-and-ten
that I may seek anew what long I sought.
In time, I might grow wise.