The life I lead is not the one I had;
I have no cause to call either one bad.
I think of years long gone, and feel the tears,
Which bear the pain that never disappears.
I then berate myself for thinking so;
For all those years have left as these shall go;
And as I watch the gentle fall of rain
Recalling times of joy, remembering pain –
I note that what had brought the joy and pain
Is long gone to never be seen again.
And then, I pause. Why weep? Oh, foolish me!
In pining for what was, I failed to see
That as those times are dead, so shall these go;
What rises high now may then crumble low,
And years from here shall I covet today,
For I do tend to think of yesterday.
The present makes its way into the past,
And often moulds the first to bring it last,
And since the old is sweeter than the new,
We see the rainbow but later its hue.
The life I lead is not the one I had,
It has to age enough to make me sad.