Pining for August in December’s cold
Is like pining for youth when I am old
It’s as futile as yearning for yesterday’s friend
Or searching for gold at the rainbow’s end
Today is the brink between future and past
One brief moment of vapor and dust
And when it is gone I cannot draw it back
Or retrace one step of its elusive track
As I stand on the brink of yester’s tomorrow
Will it be a memory of laughter or sorrow?
Will I pine for its moments in soft reverie
Or try to erase it from my memory?
Lord, forgive me for my foolish pining
Teach me the merits of self-will resigning
Show me Your glory in every hour
Lest I find myself clinging to a wilted flower
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