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If at harvest time you’ve found
too many fields and fruit trees bare,
each hoped for hundredweight a pound,
and mourned aloud in your despair;
then for youth’s wasted time repined –
the moments opportune you missed –
your valiance for truth confined
for life lived as a hedonist.

If once to sceptics you have cried,
“Keep faith and cast all doubt aside;
for in the scientists’ despite,
unsolved remains the Infinite –
still unexplained by an equation
what has no start, no termination.
It’s known that in the awesome Void
no matter e’re can be destroyed.”

Though memories evoke remorse,
your crop of chaff outweighing grain,
if you to God have turned one’s course,
you have not tilled life’s soil in vain.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.
This work may not be reproduced without prior permission of the author.

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