|we all are only here ... for a given time
hours, days, years ... marked by chinging chimes
"old" is nothing more ... than a state of mind
the gift of time is measured ... by what you leave behind
a legacy of wise ... words penned in truths of gold
a spark in the dark ... a light to reveal secrets once untold
love for thy rose of suppose ... a fathers pride etched in rhyme
lessons learned, wisdom shared ... carves your name in sands of time
never doubt sweet gifted man ... you have indeed left a lasting impress
with the stroke of thy artists brush ... with thy words of poetic confess
your grace engraved upon infinity ... guarantee of evermore ...
whispered prayers upon the wind ... passage thru the promised door
by: Rudyard Kipling
When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew!
And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair;
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!