December 0

Blog Archive

Fri, 13.01.2012

Heredity by Effie Smith

Our dead forefathers, mighty though they be,
For all their power still leave our spirits free;
Though on our paths their shadows far are thrown,
The life that each man liveth is his own.

Time stands like some schoolmaster old and stern,
And calls each human being in his turn
To write his task upon life’s blackboard space;
Death’s fingers then the finished work erase,
And the next pupil’s letters take its place.

That he who wrote before thee labored well
Concerns thee not: thy work for thee must tell;
‘Tis naught to thee if others’ tasks were ill:

learn more

New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

When some people talk about money They speak as if it were a mysterious lover Who went out to buy milk and never Came back, and it makes me... The Good Life by Tracy K. Smith
Read More