Sonnet 39, To Oblivion

They are drowning the thoughts into the bowl
Of oblivion wings to forgotten and gone,
What you have filled with old days that are done
Rotten in the roots of the lost and the foul;
Oh drink up thy cup before its own rowl
For you must do carry the wordings all on,
Though over them all forgotten flame will run
And all you will remember the past howl.

The days of new thoughts have left evermore
When rising from aged the muffling mould,
Dipping into silence and covering the sea;
Closing the once opened knowledgeable door
That gave to the wise wisdom many fold,
Now fail growing and becoming agee.