Yet Spent

Time is moment by moment precious and ever un-constrainable
A single second captured and nurtured in the mind
Or the thankful rhythm and cadence of passing years.
Too many days wasted, too few savored
And too few given up for others
But still many days of happiness; maybe even joy?
Precious, yet spent, how dear to us
But not ours. Not ours.

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About George

I'm interested in theology, languages, translation and various sorts of fermentation.
This entry was posted in Doctrinal Topics, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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