Staring down from their elevated place
Upon the wall, with something like disdain
For objects as ephemeral as plain
Human beings, the finely rendered faces
Frozen like flies in amber in thick frames
Of gold leaf, in their collars of white lace,
Try less and less to look like those whose names
They have assumed, of whom so little trace
Remains that soon the people and the paintings
Will be so different they will be the same.
For objects as ephemeral as plain
Human beings, the finely rendered faces
Frozen like flies in amber in thick frames
Of gold leaf, in their collars of white lace,
Try less and less to look like those whose names
They have assumed, of whom so little trace
Remains that soon the people and the paintings
Will be so different they will be the same.
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