a kind of history i suppose

what we have not remembered of the past
will rise to haunt us if we don't watch out
the lines that we've into the slow stream cast

won't catch for us the perch or even trout
the fish we've caught aren't worth a dry fig
we've got no reason to dance or even shout

what we do and the way that we will rig
our persons out for the renewed attempt
in the long run it won't seem quite so big

as it does to us nor will its form preempt
our other plans the ones which have no hope
of doing more than exciting your contempt

so what we won't swing by our own rope
our relevance has been assessed and our
desire for valuation won't let us yet cope

with all the limits you've set on our power
simply by being other than we seem
to our own minds and that's a chilly shower

on all that we've desired and on each dream
that allows us to work through the dull day
we'll drink our tea or coffee without cream

but we won't be delayed or kept away
from that which guards our hearts from pain
we have to go but most desire to stay

at least we've got some shelter from the rain
which marks the ground and creates the rill
that grooves the ground leading to the plain

we look up and see only the next low hill
and there's no difference there as a whole
we have frustrated even our own will

and all that's left is this once-glowing coal