Fame is such a fickle dame,
That in her clasp who would dare claim
To stay the same?
Like love, Time holds fame in its hand
And cruelly pours away the strand
Of golden sand.
The wise man smiles and winks an eye,
And nods to bid his time goodbye,
Not asking why.
But skill, like art, survives the years,
Evoking joy and countless cheers,
Saturday 8th October 2011 1:32 pm