The mountains know but cannot tell,
The secret of life’s meaning,
For our lives so long and laboured,
Are to them so fleeting.
And how can we the mayfly tell,
The purpose of a life so short,
When we to him are like the hills,
That shrug off time’s onslaught.
But life should not be measured,
By the ticking of the clock,
But rather how we live and love,
In the time that we have got.
So look not to the future,
Nor dwell within the past
But make each passing second
An eternity to last.
(23/9/09)
