The glory days of this thing are past,
and as I stand and look about I ask:
Is all that I've wrought bound to fade?!
Just like me...dust in a grave.
Everything passes on: little kids grow old,
the house with the picket fence, even stars we're told.
But is there anything that will not fade?
It could be love, or God... or something yet to be made.
I sense my glory days have past,
gone in a swirl of over achieving dreams,
and the under achieving application of my skills.
But I'm not complaining :-)