Train

Train

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Time is a train of days,

Carloads of used moments speeding by,

Another and another and another,

Clickety-clacking over a cliff

Tumbling to an abyss of yesterdays.

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Ten Million Years

Ten Million Years

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Will this mountain stone

Where now I rest facing the eastern sky,

In ten million years

Still warm to a rising sun,

Will the meadow flowers in Springtime bloom,

The white puffed clouds still drift a sea of blue,

Will the rivers flow with waters clear,

Will the son of man still be here?

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Finding

Finding

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 Time will wash its whiteness

Across the colors of our pain,

And fade in pale shadows

The pleasings that we've known,

And rob the gains we've gathered

In our private stores,

And ware to scattered sands

Our carvings made of stone,

But love will last of all,

The simple finding for our hearts

A home.