The Stage

I look back into my lifetime's haze,
when did they become the good old days?

Now days are short and memories fill
the dark of night when cold winds chill.
We thought that wisdom came with age,
but all the years were just a stage
where we were actors, courting time,
trying to paint our own design.

We glance behind at years gone by,
at how the hours did laugh and fly;
we think of friends we walked beside,
the web of love and joy cast wide;
and wonder when the heavens' turning
changed all our dreams into a yearning.