History
does not mold
Until someone is told
Of bygone deeds and the doers of same;
Whether it be of war or peace or acts of State,
Which merit Posterity's acclaim,
Or some political ploy of world renown,
None of this would be ours to relate
Unless someone put it down.
It behoves us then to record and date
These things as they happen along
On paper and stone, on film and tape,
Else they succumb to oblivion.
Before the ranks of those who knew or heard
Have crossed their mortal boundaries
Preserve their lore, their authentic word
Or face these certain quandariest:
Whom do you ask about a thing of the past
When all who were there are gone?
Whom do you nudge for a memory budge
'Bout a name or a place or a song?
When the words of mouth have echoed out
Thru the dunes of no recal,
Whom do you ask? Alas! Alas!
When there's no one to answer back?
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And the history of our past
Must be made to endure and last
Unto each succeeding generation,
In prose, pagentry and song
It must be passed along
With ample annotation,
Lest memories fade and facts grow dimmer
And Posterity faces this sad dilemma:
Whom
do you ask about a thing of the past
When all who were there are gone?
Whom do you nudge for a memory budge
'Bout a name or a place or a song?
When the words of mouth have echoed out
Thru the dunes of no recal,
Whom do you ask? Alas! Alas!
When there's no one to answer back? |