Stained leaves lay shorn by cruel autumn winds,
The gold of summer strewn upon the ground,
Stark proof that Time gives quarter to no things,
On all terrestrial things his stroke is found;
So the marks the creeping rust upon the sword,
So marks tall castles rubbled to decay,
So marks bound books that hold the Holy word —
What monument of worth can Time not slay?
But life renews where stone is ground to sand
And in the spring lime buds will light the trees
And blood yet through new blood ‘gainst blade shall stand,
So human hope through love of deity.
Abiding time to press his murderous reign,
Despite this siege, yet life shall rise again.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.