All negotiations with time fail:
In youth, we cannot wait for tomorrow
In age, we flee from it to no avail
As days pass, there are fewer to borrow
From the future’s steadily shrinking trove
That same sword that served us well in past wars
Grows dull and rusty, and the proud steed that we drove
Against foes more numerous than the stars
Grows old and sickens, as its rider must
Recollections of sparkling triumphs past
Lose their luster to that clever thief: rust
Dreams of fresh campaigns rise, but do not last
For in autumn, one knows that victory
Dulls the present as it gilds history
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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