Her sense of equality is unerringly just,
But the scales in her balance have begun to rust
In a microscopic moment– a sequence of dust,
So rapidly brief, the eye may fail to see.
The quiet collapse– successively stillfast,
Beyond progression of finite past,
Proceeds precisely in silent contrast
To the quick slow disorder of her history.
The book of change is hidden but not lost.
The landscape becomes indelibly embossed,
A river of time over braille pages has crossed–
Exposing the passage of her legacy.