We are straddlers riding on the back of time clinging precariously to its sides between the now and future unassured of any final outcome-
lost in moments of loving and hating laughing and weeping hoping and despairing dreaming and waking- winning and losing
what's that we can count as our own at the end when all that we would but inherit is old age and its decaying hours? the youthful field would have lost its glory and nothing is left of all the summer-flowers--
my pen would have been dry my words, feeble and faint no valiant song would spring forth from my mouth, nothing radiant would come my way but the day's long sigh
in the horizon mist hangs heavily dust seems to cover my weary eyes my voice has lost all its vibrancy nights come too soon and darker are their shades the world is no longer mine and my lonely tears I hide.