Pandora

O Pandora, we have lost,
There can be no golden chest,
The immortals don’t know best
And we know less than them at most.
And we will never be remembered,
We will never be forgotten
As the ones who scraped the bottom
Of a box to find the rendered
Image of our heart in gold.
O Pandora, they don’t know,
They think the heart-beat that we sold
To our impelling need to grow
Was those of others – while we hold
Our own, our own in hands of snow.