Poem

Eventually
All things decline
Everything falters, dies and ends
Towers cave in, walls collapse
Roses wither, horses stumble
Cloth grows old, men expire
Iron rusts and timber rots away
Nothing made by hand will last
I understand the truth
That all must die, both clerk and lay
And the fame of men now dead
Will quickly be forgotten
Unless the clerk takes up his pen
And brings their deeds to life again.

Poem written possibly by Wace.

Click here for more on him.

My friend John posted that poem on his blog. This is what will lead me eventually to write about Lawrence Legace, a 5th cousin once removed, on November 11.

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