History Capsule

Your epoch is not for trying.
It's for living and for dying.  
There is no blander pose
Than to bargain and protest,
As if times could these for those 
Be exchanged upon request.
 
Every age seems Age of Iron,
But a garden shines inspiring,
And a rainbow. I, at eight,
Had to die of scarlet fever.
Never mind - live on, believer 
In the age of better fate.                                

So, your era's a disaster ...
Is the Terrible your master?
Daydream of the Florentine 
Plague? Or envy comfort riding      
In a cargo ship, or hiding
In a lepra quarantine?

Every age seems Age of Iron,
But a garden shines inspiring,
And a rainbow. When I'm done, 
I'll embrace my fate, my era.
For, the time's a trial where
You don't envy anyone.

The embrace is tight and dire.  
Time is skin, and not attire.
Everlasting are its stains.  
From our own marks and etchings 
One the age's faithful sketches
Can like fingerprints obtain.