When the world was young it seemed
That time was on our side
The fresh green grass would spring forever
We didn't care even if we never
Made a mark, happy to pass our lives as a flash
Of pure joy.

When the world was growing up
We knew time would run out
But gold still glittered and that green grass still grew
So away our chance we threw
Too busy making a mark, scared of passing away

Now the world is old it seems
That time runs against us
The grass long shrivelled, gold of no value
I don't think we'll ever pull through
No way to escape to make a mark we'll pass

We still want to make a mark
We still possess the vital spark
Of life of hope intelligence
Somebody just notice us

The growth of a sentient race (if you'll excuse the hopeless idealisation of primitive life which I'm absolutely certain was an awful lot more stressful and dreadful than modern life for the sake of the childhood metephor).
Return to poetry index