The Art Of Living. 

"Prepare to be impressed, ye mortals!", says the
One, they think, whose art will live forever.
Bright paints do fade, decay, like one last sunset;
Canvas dust from fretted edge blows free
And leaves a space as clear, as new as morning.
Stone, cut strong, will wilt and crack like clay.
Great notes when played are borne from mind to mind;
Threads of ice and fire and all things green
And moving, breathing, live again as ghosts, but
Soon are lost like light among the stars.
Wise words though lasered deep in stainless steel,
Buried in glass, must die while the language lives.
This art, it dies the moment it is made, but
Know that what is done may live anew.