Feathers float on winds of change,
riding high up on the thermals,
ocean waves crash the beach,
in regular sequence like a second hand.

Crash, crash, crash, crash,
tick, tick, tick, tick,
time rides a run away train,
on flat tracks, with no way to stop.

The hopes and dreams,
of the innocent young,
left sitting at the depot,
as there can be only one bag checked.

The train is full of others,
help them if you can,
feed them, clothe them,
provide a little comfort.

Then climb the ladder to the roof,
spread your wings and fly,
only the brave will do this,
the rest are content to ride.

Soar while you can,
but still tethered to the train,
see past the tracks and the trees,
look at the hills and valleys.

Then one day your feathers,
will float down to the sea,
where a final wave will wash,
and you will cease to be.