Eyes of impetuous, mortal judgment
see merely wrinkles, a body worn with age,
a character of stark and incidental nature.
But these same eyes with like destiny
are myopic to the child, companion, lover,
fired with dreams and passions.
For soul and spirit are not, by time, diminished,
but resolute in continued expectation,
in the search for love and peace and hope.
For how sure the path before us all —
the call of hope, the dream, the song we sing
in this permuting, transient whirl of life.
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