Passing Sonnet

A PASSING SONNET

Though when a sun is driven to dusk's doom,
Its hushed, swift passing hastens envious dark,
Though silent-cold, a falling winter's gloom
Will seal flower's life to seed's near-sleeping spark,
Though fury, whirled from wind's life-bringing breath,
Is lost, exhausted by its sky-spent climb;
And minutes moving always towards my death
Will twist its change through all my weave of time,
Though when a fire has flickered out its flame,
Its once-awoken, embered burning fades,
And once alive, the now-departed's fame
Will die away to memories' paling shades. . .
Yet Self's unseen and lasting Being stays
And bears the memories of passing days.