No one knows the paths to posterity,
Except – through battles fought alone;
Still, in its Temple, no one is a guest
In chambers he has chosen as his own.
Nor does he enter through his own portal
But through one that has been for him opened –
And what? what were wings in life’s deal . . .
In history proves often merely a heel! . . .
Today’s overshrill swagger,
– You’d think it was the sound of trumpets –?
Here – balls clatter into urns . . .
Yet silence as the votes gather.