When words won't form prose....

At times when words won't form prose..

And a void lives between the eyes..

We turn to words of days before...

To say again what has been said before...

This time we turn to words of great ..

That were found by someone before ..

That fill the void that existed there .. .

To let one think of things alone....

Sonet 81

William Shakespeare

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,

Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,

From hence your memory death cannot take,

Although in me each part will be forgotten.

Your name from hence immortal life shall have,

Though I (once gone) to all the world must die,

The earth can yield me but a common grave,

When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie,

Your monument shall be my gentle verse,

Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,

And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,

When all the breathers of this world are dead,

You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)Where breath most breathes,

even in the mouths of men.