“To strive, to seek,  to find, and not to yield.”

Ulysses, Tennyson.

We were once light of reflex and clear of mind,

We leapt cloud ward, and swept caution aside,

We were strong, certain and swiftsure. Besides —

The world was ours : with all of its riches yet to find.

Was there any uncertainty? None. We strove to conquer

The skies, the stars beyond but failed to subjugate,

The obstacles within: fatalities seen far too late…

these being the heartbroken eddies we chose to defer.

Now as sleep slows our shrinking eyes we surmise,

Our greyed thoughts : as we count out years wistfully.

We coddle caution anew — but now more closely,

Yet we reproach weakness as death in disguise.

Why fall now ensuring those afterward will fail?

In these last seconds a new eternity must prevail.