In the end flowers and trees will explode,
Their innerness in triumph over form;
Petals and boughs will shrapnel across earth,
Join the Maker and die:
Service at an end.

Triumph will finally mark life of all being:
Sand will declare itself,
Clay will wake to tremble and speak,
Stone will excel in song.
Horses, sheep, snakes, birds,
Viruses and germs that cousin me
Will  burst,  join the Maker and die:
Service at an end.

In the end triumph will gain upon the face of man:
His eyes, hair, arms' movement, hands' grasp,
Will drop off as scales.
Memory shall pass, and our words, written and real,
Will explode like flowers
To reveal the inner magnificence
That time did mask.

---James Bolner, Sr.
December 1974