My grandfather has an uncanny memory, he has memorized more poems than most people have read in their lifetime. Unfortunately his memory for verse is not rivaled by his memory for attribution. The following is a poem he recited to me and I transcribed. He doesn't remember who wrote it, and it appears nowhere on the internet. I suspect he actually wrote it (which he has been known to do) and has mistakenly assumed that he memorized it from somewhere else. So here it is, the unattributed poem, making its first ever internet debut. It isn't long, and it's rather depressing; but it's well written and deserves to be written down somewhere:
Death I can understand.
If you had died I still might know content.
Believing in that world where here and there are blendt,
To find you all unchanged.
But what fate planned this grief?
And why at life’s not death’s demand
must we who know the lovely art
of soul, and soul completeness part,
but both live on, grow old and change?
It is this life, so sadly strange
I do not understand.
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