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A Poem of Lifes Journey
We start out whittled
as a piece of clay
Forming and shaping
day by day
From corner to corner
we seek and learn
Believing our candle
can never cease to burn
Challenges are conquered
as we thirst
Not knowing at first
could we be cursed
Time alone measures
our results
Promises like dreams
are ours to own
Cloned we are
in many ways
Reflecting images
of those from yesterday
Days become shorter
as so our frame
The game of life plays slower
as we grey
The early years begin
to fade away
Until we become
a memory
Buried beneath
a piece of clay.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #139)
