What will become of you and me
Besides the photo and the memory?
This is the school in which we learn.
That time is the fire in which we burn.
What is the self amidst this blaze?
What am I now that I was then,
which I shall suffer and act again?
The children shouting are bright as they run.
This is the school in which they learn.
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
the smallest color of the smallest day.
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.

[From “Calmly We Walk through This April’s Day” by Delmore Schwartz]