A light so bright it burns, may not be the place to warm your bones.
Diminishing returns, like paying age for your golden tones.
Vanity never thrives, when both gravity & time are known.
Yet graceful age survives, where gratitude for living is grown.
The winner stands alone, ambition breaks the ties that bind us.
Our future lived on loan, ensures that now can never find us.
The loser too well knows, that the present tense can’t be ignored.
The future’s made of foes, when the ills of now remain uncured.
We miss many things pure, if against perfection all is stood.
Of one thing I am sure, tis wise to favor can over could.
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L.B.Stowe 