Once an ordinary day, in an ordinary land,
Graced an ordinary town, where lived an ordinary
Who did ordinary things, and dreamed ordinary dreams,
Where his ordinary neighbors made ordinary schemes.
They would shop and browse ordinary stories,
And grow bitter and angry and fight ordinary wars,
Court and make love in ordinary ways,
And die and be buried on ordinary days.
But soon some day,
A thousand years hence,
When time has erected its impenetrable fence,
YOU, ordinary man,
To whom I do write,
Will be unearthed by a man most extraordinary to
And he shall stoop low, and lift up your bones, or a bowl or a comb,
Something common from your home,
And whisper in a voice taut with awe,
Both prophecy and law.