Time now flies, deletes yer features
Behold yer hands, fruitless taught;
Yet those virtues, thrilling creatures,
Now dead figures, show off nought:
Bright and lavish, yearning nurture,
Hold yer hands before yer eyes,
Bleary and wrinkled, clumsy in future
Will ye then them recognise?
So good teaching, dreaming high,
Sheer ambition dries tomorrow,
Are yer skills outliving fights?,
Is this yen surviving sorrow?
Live that vigour till yer end
Then see it off, for it’ll be away
Now yer budding, dewy and right,
But for how long, my dear friend?
