257. September 14th
All we have now is mere dust,
Wanly showing what is to come.
Like a greeting at the start of an address,
We have only the first letter.
The things we have are perishable,
They will not last forever.
We look to the future for hope,
Something more than this.
A promise of what is around the corner,
A welcome before a speech.
We can hope for what will one day be,
For we've been promised it.