What dreams may come

Thoughts on a young race

What will we be in days to come
When threads of time slip round the sun
Will we still fight for hearth and home
Or will we stretch our minds and run?

What will we be when we grow old
When knowledge breaks through passion's hold?
Will we expand through space so cold
With wings of dreams and hearts of gold?

Will we put off our foolish ways
Of death and doom and pointless praise?
Or will we end in early days?
And never unto glory raise?

Like a not so rolling stone

This Rock

This rock has sat
through wind and rain
through sun and shade
and yet does not complain

This rock was born
in pressure and in stress
in heat and in destruction
and yet sites at perfect rest

This rock was rough
Time has worn it's edges
Nature has polished it's flaws
We could all learn
from this rock.