There must be a near infinite number of lines
Lines of words, lines of language
Strewn on minds and papers and air
Composed in the heads and hearts
Of every man and every woman
Who ever lived to think of verse.
So let each line find its place in one verse
Let each word sting on for centuries
String on past the Milky Way
On to where words become immortal
If there was such a place for such a thing
As the immortality of language.