The architect builds that which can be destroyed,
The artist and his work has by chance a longer life.
That is why I feel such an empathy with paper,
For all its frailty, it oft lasts the longer of the two.

Time and art wear well together, like carven stone
Stone does not always last, and it is set apart.
For others to be immortal or at least to have the work,
Of a life to remain well after ones bones have died.

The soul of man continues, not in consciousness
Remembered. The Dadaists told what is found in a gallery
Is not necessarily art, neither is the true heart of man.
For it is always on show and forever always will be.

For that is the work and joy of karma,
All is not lost nor is it ever really forgotten.