Classic Poem

There are few words
Of all those taken and given
That remain clear,
Words not smooth and even,
Rough, hard to say,
Strong to hear.

There is another day;
Sun comes up over the hill.
There is little peace.
There are still
Moments only.
Grief is cruel, hunger sharp,
Old age lonely.
But the will endures.
This knowledge is fire for the night.

The stars above the roof top
Are love, and the delight
Of its swift taken breath;
Strength in the far endeavor;
And the flame apprehended,
That beyond death
Burns forever,
Not extinguished