We strut across our fleeting page
As if we'll last from age to age.
We think we're royalty, divine,
And everywhere we look, say, "Mine!"
And I'm a king, and you're a king,
And may our praises ever ring...
And yet we're really growing old
As fast as coffee's growing cold.
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,
and its place knows it no more.
But the steadfast love of the LORD
is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him,
and his righteousness to children's children,
to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.
--Psalm 103:15-18 ESV
My thanks to Magpie Tales for the image. For other people's thoughts on the same picture, follow the link.
This original poem is public domain.