Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we sniff all snake oil before we buy it! No wonder everyone around here has a sinus infection.
My mother, may her reincarnation as a newt be going well, had a favorite poem that went something like this:
Lives of great men do remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And in parting leave behind us
Footprints in the sands of time.
If I heard that once as a kid, I heard in 1000 times.
It wasn't until I'd grown up that something dawned on me. Footprints in the sands of time! For the love of fruit flies, footprints don't last long in sand. Anyone who's ever strolled along a beach knows that. One nice-sized wave roaring up at high tide, and your great men (above) are gonna be totally forgotten! Footnotes in the archives, if that!
Problem with deconstructing the poem above is you wind up not caring a fig whether you're great or not. Mom wouldn't like that. She was all about greatness. Her constant advice to me was, "Marry a doctor."
So, let's turn this poem over to the faeries, who love a challenge. Have at it, o ye fae!
Flies that ate men do remind us
We'll soon be far past our prime,
And in farting leave behind us
Carbon footprints full of slime.
There now. That's better, don't you think?
I'll see you tomorrow. I have to make a casserole.
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS