Who can say what
time reveals
Who can know
what age will yield
Who can perceive
that graceful climb
A lifetime’s
achievement oh so blind.
Not I, says the
wizen man
Nor I, says the
withered woman.
A hand extended
though tempest’s fury
Gladly taken
upon such a journey
Feeble grasps
and stumbles made
Lead each one of
us to the grave
And yet we
strive for unknown reason
To make our pace
among the seasons.
Held in our
hearts a needed meaning
Crumbles away
when our sojourn’s fleeting
Looking back we
ponder the steps
Regretting not
the paths we met
May only the trails
upon which we never
Give us pause
into forever.
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