Stained leaves lie shorn by cruel autumn winds,
The pride of summer razed upon the ground—
Stark proof that Time gives quarter to no things;
On all terrestrial acts, his stroke is found;
So creeps the rust along the soldier’s sword,
So marks tall castles rubbled to decay,
So marks strewn books that praise the Holy word —
What monument of worth can Time not slay?
Yet life renews where stone is ground to sand
And in the spring, new buds will light dead trees
And blood through younger blood ‘gainst blade shall stand,
So human hope prevails through Deity.
Though Time still presses on his murderous reign,
Despite this siege, there life shall rise again.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.