A Sympathetic Spirit

An archaeologist,
         With caution
Born of the memory of treasure,
Stored through the piling ages
And teased from its clinging mold
Tenderly, as befits an act of love,
         Only to be lost
By incautious and overreaching hands—
To experience’s gain and history’s cost—
Would feel very much at home among
The dusty corridors within me,
         Which once were light,
But where now only shadows dwell,
And once your welcome footsteps fell.