by Robert L. Harrison
Copyright January 7, 1994

"How far to the end of the road?" I asked, and the old man smiled at me,
"You'll think it long, and rough, and steep but you'll change your mind," said he.
"For when you near your journey's end and look back at the trip you made,
You'll wonder then how short the road, and the smooth and flattened grade."

The days of the young seem endless as the years pass slowly by,
But Time, like Chance, a blackguard thief, in the blink of a youthful eye
Will turn a face with rosy cheeks and a cheerful, impish grin
To a wrinkled, weathered, leathered look above a double chin.

The healthy bloom that once we were now stares at the dark unknown,
And ponders the youth that since has fled with the years so quickly flown,
The cheerful, impish grin has gone, the rosy cheeks have passed,
The final bend in the road appears, the end is near at last.