Look up, look up, into the misting sky
And wistful, dreaming of the years gone by
For truth, and seeming as they never were
Provoking thoughts that heart and mind concur.
In life not even flowers linger long
And to the wind both stem and leaf belong
While bird and nest, too soon part company,
And thus with many leave only memory.
Unholy din to clamor in this sphere
Mark man and beast with recollection clear,
Like bookmarks in a span of life concern
Within orb, lasting memory discern.
Dusting shelves laden with rejected dreams,
A thankless task wasted as it now seems
That memory which has been tucked away
Till such a time perhaps as is this day.
Like one’s closed book of golden memory
Which only grasps the edge of destiny,
So thumb again the pages stained and worn,
Oft empty sheets both tired and torn.
A little knowledge with self-reflected view
Consuming hopes, for time that rings untrue,
Reason spurn Herculean endeavor
In assuming nothing lasts forever.
Leave wanting for the final recompense
And wishful hoping as the last defense,
At best that memory, if so inclined
Will flicker once or twice, across the mind.