The Traveller
By piglet
- 323 reads
My life begun and it will end,
But these words he does not comprehend.
He always has been, he always will -
Unconquerable, impossible to kill.
He cannot be stopped, he rampages on;
If you try to catch him he is gone.
Sometimes he seems to slow his pace;
Other times you miss his face
As he flashes past, leaving behind
Marks of his coming, subtle signs.
Or sometimes the signs are plain and clear,
Obvious clues that he's been here.
But his journey is not through space;
In this respect he's in every place.
On his everlasting path,
He carries out his many tasks.
He throws happiness here, sorrow there.
If it is just he does not care.
A new life for these, a death for those -
Round in circles does he go.
Not only for humans does he pass -
Nothing lies outside his grasp.
He is a sculptor, a painter, an artist also;
He makes raindrops fall and rivers flow.
He lifts a finger and the sun goes down;
A wink of his eye and the Earth turns round.
Then he destroys what he has made,
Makes it die, makes it fade.
At this moment he visits you and me,
But not a long visit will it be.
Use him wisely, for right not wrong,
As very soon he will be gone.
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