I'll close my posts today with a translation of a Michelangelo sonnet

Title unknown.

In a frail boat, through stormy seas,
My life in its course has now reached the harbor,
The bar of which all men must cross
To render account of good and evil done.
I now know how weighted in error was the fond fantasy
Which made art for me an idol and a king.
And how mistaken that earthly love which all men seek.
What of those thoughts of love once light and gay
As towards two deaths I move?
One is certain, the other menaces.
No brush, no chisel quietens the soul,
Once turned to the divine love of he who stretches out his arms upon the
cross.