Think of your Creator,
In the days of your youth;
Your officiator,
And holder of the truth.
While the evil days,
Come not nor do the years;
Causing someone that strays,
Without having the fears.
But I have no delight,
Without pleasure in them;
Being done out of spite,
Not feeling to condemn.
While the sun or moon,
Not darkened as the clouds;
Knowing the rain comes soon,
While drenching the crowds.
On the day the keepers,
Of the house shall shiver;
They will be the weepers,
As God will deliver.
The mighty men will bow,
The women who grind cease;
For God will not allow,
The light till there is peace.
The doors at the street close,
As sound from the mill fades;
Just the sound of the crows,
No song comes from the maids.
They are afraid of heights,
And dangers on the street;
Dark without any lights,
The evil you could meet.
The almond tree will bloom,
Grasshoppers lose their spring;
For God still has not doom,
From the chaos they bring.
The dust returns to earth,
As at one time had been;
Allows to bring new birth,
Revitalizing again.
As the spirit returns,
For it is all fruitless;
Vanity that one learns,
A style as useless.
Copyright © 2018 Richard Newton Sherrer
