|
to give thanks and praise to the bough that breaks |
|
under the weight of age and passing days |
|
to the song of the swan when one's time has come |
|
like passing clouds in the sky all must someday die |
|
to falling leaves in autumn's shades the promise of |
|
youth that fades under the winter's waning sun |
|
the wind and snow of a life now done |
|
like the tides retreating from tranquil shores |
|
cold lips that draw breath no more |
|
to the shifting sands of time lost |
|
measured by star and frost |
|
to scattered blossoms of spring this glory in which |
|
we sing: o ephemeral passing life consumed in the |
|
funeral pyres consumed in our burning desires |
|
even these flames must expire |
|
abiding ash and splintered bone |
|
sodden earth and weathered stone |
|
right of finality devouring infinity |
|
works will come undone so as what we become |
|
unknowing certainty of that which sets us free |
|
to the end of days to give thanks and praise |