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Borrowed
Time
Death
will come when Death may please
And
why should I complain?
For
I have felt the summer breeze
And
smelled the summer rain.
Though
in my dole of days have been
Many
I might forget:
I
shall forsake this earthly scene
With
infinite regret.
If
death had culled me yesterday
Among
its harvesting,
I
had not viewed those clouds’ array
Nor
heard that robin sing.
Each
day that I can savour still
With
senses undestroyed
Is
all the more a miracle
And
more to be enjoyed.
1966
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