The Race

THE RACE Tomorrow’s fresh hope with the sun Says life will be better than yesterday And the race can still be won: The piper will still await his pay. Yet tomorrow my days will be shorter And my time halved without cause: So my pace must be quicker - I must be twice the man I was. In the race between time and agility Every dawn lets me start again to run With renewed hope - but less ability - In a race that can never be won. My run in the quicksands of time, I doubt. Of time, I can only run out. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .