Time engraves its passage in both man and tree,
Etched in furrowed skin and softly drooping limb;
A tree becomes more graceful through time’s artistry,
But for man youth’s beauty and abilities do dim.
Rare are they who delight in this life’s passing trial,
And few men lose themselves, as does a tree;
First shade, then sacrificing body to the wood pile,
From sprout to fire they become time’s masterpiece.
Our fair youth laments the passing of each year,
The sculptor really does carve very cruelly;
The physicalities we’ve held so close and so dear,
Once lost, become a timely opportunity.
Forget those things that made for youthful charm,
Embrace the art of living like the trees;
Cast aside the consuming love of what you are,
Love others with a newfound human charity.
When youthful love is directed inward, towards our face,
Shame overtakes us at the close of this life’s race.