“The moving finger writes, and having written moves on. Nor all thy piety nor all…” — Omar Khayyam

There was a door to which I found no key: There was the veil through which I might not see.

The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.

Living Life Tomorrow's fate, though thou be wise, Thou canst not tell nor yet surmise; Pass, therefore, not today in vain, For it will never come again.