We are fleeting reflections in
the stream of air rushing over us.
We hear and feel the song of time;
the metronome counting minutes,
becoming years.
We see our image, the branch of a
greater tree; its roots mark a beginning
of a not so distant past.
There is a failing as we grow; we like
some of our parts while rejecting others.
The strong create foundations, recognizing
fears yet charging forward while many
martyrs fall for lack of success.
Growing old is the merging of trust
and the acceptance of your reflection.
