One by one all things must go
to the past forgotten as we grow
dreams of grandeur fall by the way
put aside for another day
Time to be and time to dream
a time to plan a time to scheme
tomorrow is another day
we put aside in lieu of play
Too far gone to realize
how distant now the dreamed of prize
the hunger subsides as our eyes dim
the fever cools and dies within
The death of dreams, as with all
becomes the dream of the final call
with no regrets we are all called home
as we write the final line in our tome
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 