in the end the only duty

what's lost we cannot find although we try
those things we make are never really pure
of all our powers we never can be sure
there's more to do than work or sell or buy
but when we work it out we have to fly
beyond the places where life can endure
faced with the ill for which there is no cure
we know that in the end we have to die
but while we're here each of us plays a part
in a great play which each of us must write
in borrowed words to take our proper place
as makers and critics of the human art
to hold back for a time the fall of night
and when we make our exit show some grace