Lincoln

by Cristel Hastings

As well recount stars on a still summer night—

Or the leaves on the poplars, or birds in their flight—

As well count the raindrops, or measure the sands

On every white beach of far, foreign lands—

As well name the waves of the world’s seven seas,

For each act Lincoln was woven like these

Into one golden fabric of durable strength—

Each act was a poem, and life-long in length.