Time flies and I regret its passing.
There is so much as yet for me to do.
So much of life for me went lost or wasting, And now I fear my life may be near through.
Give me enough years more, blessed heaven, To do the things I still aspire to do –
The things that fate has been preventing.
I fear the years left to me are too few.
I see my goal in reach if I strive for it.
No more I feel I’m reaching for the moon. The only thing that may prevent it
Is my dying, still not young, but far too soon.
We all must come to dust at finish.
Death revokes for us even won fame,
But neither do we see our fame diminish.
While I am alive let burn my flame.
Unlike Keats, Byron and Shelley with their magic, Who died before time gleaned their inspiration, Who died in circumstances tragic,
I lost my time on foggy medication.
Now I’m writing free as inspiration takes me, And I aspire to leave my name behind,
If only as a tribute to real poetry,