Having done a good thing,
He may impatiently wish it to be celebrated
As the summary of his life,
Though it was, in fact,
Just one moment of millions
In an unwieldy saga,
So lengthy as to make dubious
Any particular snapshot
As a proper icon for its cover.
But, his struggle aside,
Who among us
Judges nothing before its time
And refuses to select any freeze-frame―
Whether good or bad―
With which to cover someone else’s
Unfinished book?
And I wonder
If man is even capable
Of taking so long a view.
