sometimes, the vision’s fleeting;
sometimes, the picture’s clear —
the here and now is then and gone,
and such is life, i fear.
for where the flower’s blooming
the snow is soon to fall;
and struggle though we may to hold,
we cannot slow at all
the march and rush of soulless time.
the near becomes the far:
for though the moment’s fleeting,
it’s all we were –