Four stanzas (of 90) from The Rubayyat of Omar Khayyam* - Edward FitzGerald's 1859 translation (one of at least three) Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel too. And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before The Tavern shouted -- "Open then the Door! You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more." The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. 'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays. * Omar Khayyám; born May 18, 1048, Nishapur, Iran was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, philosopher, and poet. He also wrote treatises on mechanics, geography, mineralogy, music, and Islamic theology. All posting here are midgets, treading in the fading footsteps of Giants who went before.