Vita Novello

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.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
  Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It
  Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

Rubaiyat, Omar Khayyam