and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born,
and a time to die,
a time to plant,
and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill,
and a time to heal;
a time to break down,
and a time to build up;
A time to weep,
and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn,
and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones,
and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace,
and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get,
and a time to lose;
a time to keep,
and a time to cast away;
A time to rend,
and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence,
and a time to speak;
A time to love,
and a time to hate;
a time of war,
and a time of peace.
What profit hath he that worketh
in that wherein he laboureth?
-Ecclesiastes 3:1-9
Life is a vapor
Of o're clouding steam.
The substance of the stuff
Gives lie to the fact
Of its transient nature.
Here today, and
Not only gone,
But gone without trace,
Forgotten,
Tomorrow.
It is real.
But, the slightest breeze,
The frailest disturbance,
The short tick of the clock,
Will banish this vapor
From this earth.
Such is life.
Real, but lacking in
Abiding substance.
The length of a lifetime is long
Only in its beginning.
And that an illusion.
The truth of its time is,
Even at advanced age,
Short.
It comes in a moment.
It passes in a minute.
It is swallowed by eternity.
This rose bush just grew in a place where we had taken down a tree. We didn't plant it.
