By Richard H. Fay
Time flows past,
A mighty river
Rolling along,
Carrying off days
As dead logs adrift.
Small boats caught
In the unstoppable rush,
We all are swept along,
Neither rudder nor oar
Ever changing our course.
The quickening current,
The hastening waterway,
Carries lives downstream
Toward an inevitable end;
All entering the same sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment