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Transition

We know the end will come  
to all whose beginning are now,
and to those we see no more
we wonder the path they go.
 
Like trees on wings of seasons
mindless of passing climes,
we watch with stunted reasons
as dusts rob us of time.
 
Behind is the day of the old,
when dauntless youths grow wild
on gentle strides so bold;
Mother-earth kiss the feet of a child.
 
In front lies the day of the unborn
to thrust lives into the hands of history;
we become aware that life sojourns,
like the ageless mountains enshrouded in mysteries.
Written by ossy (Ossy Richard A)
Published | Edited 5th Oct 2021
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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