Time is but the measure of
Growth, death and decay
From which new life springs
To grace the day
With beauty.
Sometimes I seem to think in "greeting card" fashion. My mind says, "that's deserving of a poem" on the one hand, but on the other says, "that's too much work!" So, we get a single verse. Still, this old rotten log with the moss and lichens -- hollow from where the heart wood has been consumed -- deserves recognition. It was only after I had looked for a time that I saw the new tree growing up from among the detritus.
Hopefully, each of our lives will be like this old tree; we may not leave much behind, but if it nourishes the growth of those who follow, our time here will be well spent. May you enrich the lives of those around you in all that you do.
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