Challenge
You're a Pompeiian poet. Volcanic ash is raining down. You write one last poem. What is it?
Relic
As with all things
There is a beginning
And end
In the beginning
We lived so freely
we tasted every wine
Every luxuriant foliage
strived for only the best.
I have loved
I have hated
I have known
But this I never anticipated
The world I was just getting to know
Soon shall become a relic
Preserved under grey snow.