So often in the stillness of the night
I think of how my life is almost spent;
Not many years remain some wrongs to right,
Some goals to reach, some follies to repent.
No matter what's undone, how far to go,
The dwindling months, the precious weeks rush by;
Such fearsome foes to fight, so much to know,
So many songs to sing before I die.
A few more days, perhaps, to laugh with friends,
To speak of love, to watch the children play;
A few more chances yet to make amends,
Some final lines to write, some debts to pay.
So quick re-wind the old, bring on the new;
So little time, so much, so much, to do.
John T. Baker