"Aeons Hence"

The following poem by James Reeves provides a modest (yet hopeful) view of what a soul may leave behind after its stay here.  We each dwell on our own "unregarded island," one that is both earthy and imaginative.  Yes, yes, I know:  "No man is an island, entire of itself," according to John Donne.  But, then again, each of us dies alone.  Take your pick.

                               Richard Eurich, "Bottle on a Beach" (1976)

                 Aeons Hence

When, aeons hence, they rediscover
The unregarded island I inhabit,
Will they not marvel
How life upon so bare a soil withstood
This testy climate and abrasive sea?

And when by excavation
My relics are exposed, my habits known,
How, perching on a ledge out of the wind,
I scraped a living, will they not admit
They've lost the secret of some things I did,
As making good pots from this gritty clay
And music from a certain kind of shells?

James Reeves, Subsong (1969).

It doesn't sound half-bad, really, "perching on a ledge out of the wind." Like Alexander Selkirk, but with more comforts.  And the thought of leaving certain things behind, while taking certain secrets with you, is worth considering as well.

                          Richard Eurich, "The Road to Grassington" (1971)