Why can we not see what lies

beyond today and know

The future—however it is set;

where the right way is to go?

And why can we not know the seasons,

the times that must unfold

For better or for worse…

for years of youth or age of old?

The future sets the time to pass,

and soon time shall no more be

When the sands have all run out,

vanished relentlessly.

Each page in the book will have turned,

a story will be sung

Of castles built on sky-borne dreams;

of battles we have won.

And when man sees what has occurred,

will he ever learn to live?

When the present is our past, what then?

What shall time give?

Shall it run swiftly, then run out

and leave us standing still?

“‘tis but a vapor,” the Psalmist wrote.

‘tis but a sleeping pill.