A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day.

The Martyr PoetsThe Martyr Poets — did not tell — But wrought their Pang in syllable — That when their mortal name be numb — Their mortal fate — encourage Some — The Martyr Painters — never spoke — Bequeathing — rather — to their WorkThat when their conscious fingers cease — Some seek in Art — the Art of Peace —