Sweet, let your cool hand smooth my forehead . . . 
Does it seem that only yesterday 
We stood upon that tallest bluff 
And vowed the world was ours: that we had won. 

Yesterday the world was mine to share with you. 
Today you loan me little bits of yours. 
How different is the view from her, 
And yet I still can see things growing on that bluff. 

But that is life. Here today, Tomorrow gone. 
The sun paints your hair gold 
As you stand there halting its rays. 
Turn back. Another month to ride this damned chair . . . 
To roll and roll . . . but months are often short. 

         Sandy Doone.