Sit here, so I may writeyou into a poem and make you eternal.
Nothing is perpetual in this world. Not even your everlasting soul!
(a.) Continuing only for a short time; not enduring; fleeting; evanescent.
I want to be a transitory fallen, lifted up by virtues every time.
Bones are patient. Bones never tire nor do they run away. When you come upon a man who has been dead many years, his bones will still be lying there, in place, content, patiently waiting, but his fles...