Pantheon: The Founder packs to go
Two thousand years ago, a
nameless worker
turned to Agrippa, saying,
“There the building’s done;
“may it honor
Gathering his tools for the
last time, he walked away,
Moving on to the next project,
Willing, with his final
glance,
that all his passion and his
piety stay in this spot,
that his legacy in stone not
be forgot by time.
A century later the building
burned.
Restored by Domitian.
Burned.
Rebuilt by Hadrian.
Named a church by Christians.
A tourist spot for
capitalists.
Just another old building in
This is the grief of passing
for those who build.
We pack our tools knowing
that our
particular version may be
–must be—lost.
But the architect must start
the next building.
The painter must go to the
new picture.
The musician must set aside
the last work,
and put down the first note
on the clean page.
Inside the Pantheon, the
light shifts through the dome;
the passion and the piety of
all the generations of builders,
shimmering on the porphyry
and the marble columns.
We walk softly, honoring the
gift of their spirit to us all.
© Jean M.
Campbell 2001