The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop,
At late or early hour
To lose one’s wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one’s health is more
To lose one’s soul is such a loss,
That no man can restore
The present only is our own,
So live, love toil with a will
Place no faith in tomorrow,
For the clock may then be still.
Nikki
16th April 2012
I am I and you are you, whatever we were to each other that we still are.
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was.
Extract from a poem by Henry Scott Holland