Postcard #87

Newbury, UK

“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,      
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces 
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;      
’T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses 
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link      
Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces 
Frail man, when paper — even a rag like this, 
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that’s his.” 
― George Gordon Byron