An essayist laid down a line that begged be poetically hatched:
“Is greatness, in the end, no purer guarantee of survival
than awfulness is for swift dispatch?”
There are those whose fates are entwined in fortune good or ill;
some would-be great artists are only granted denial
while others through no effort are heralded still.
Oh, dispassionate, unthoughtful and arbitrary fate,
scattering your blessings and curses without rival,
you are never early but oft-times very late,
if you even bother to show at some far off future date.