Passing

Children of the moment, dust and vapor of time, wearying their frame for passing filth. in this land of the dying, forgetting the endless eternity, From the cry of the innocent, to the paths of obscurity, seeking routes through time, The "haves" the "havnots" the longings and cravings for perishing things of clay, Ambitions and dreams innumerable, vigorous race and fascination for filthy lucre, they run, as though their frame were made of iron and their sinews of brass, forgetting the gates of death, They acquire filth, some call it gold, they build, they store, and die holding naught Then come the endless eternity The eternity of undying souls Man! why slide unprepared?