Time
M
ORNING, noon, and night—then dawn
again,
The inevitability of every day,
And we move forward on the ways of men
With no voice calling out to bid us stay,
And no hand reaching out to hold us back.
The seasons take their course, and life goes past
Swift as a racer on a beaten track,
And we who once were young are old at last.
Surely the high adventure we call “Life”
Goes on beyond the far horizon’s rim;
Surely our earthly journey, that is rife
With varying light and shadow, will not dim
To the dark nothingness of some dead end—
Oh, life goes on beyond the farthest bend.
˙68˙