When he was young,
the future only a dream,
He never worried about
what he would write
on the pages of time
He did what he had to do next
without stopping to think
And the pattern changed
because he passed by.
Today, the falling leaves
remind him of his past
It's written like tree rings
that can't be deleted.
What will they say about him?
By what measurement will he be judged?
Does it matter?
1 comment:
Beautiful--I like how you liken the past to tree rings that cannot be deleted. Thanks for leaving a comment on my blog. Happy New Year to you and yours.
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