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Bring the DayBring the day that fair unto us all shall be. For all that fails and frets upon these mortal shores has visited. Time . . . which man can only harness in a dream . . . that runs beside his toil and labour waiting not, nor giving favour, . . . blindly marches on. Looking back . . . far down that distant path . . . reaching ‘cross the centuries. We can stop . . . . . but time does not. And in this mortal coil of ours, that bends and twists the fleeting hours . . . that subjugates the mindless rest we need. Tho' filled with sadness and unrest . . . a turmoil-woven happiness . . . yet fine . . . as footsteps, lightly drawn, along the midnight hour. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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