Shapes of Things
Shapes of things before my eyesJust teach me to despiseWill time make men more wise?Here within my lonely frameMy eyes just hurt my brainBut will it seem the same?
Come tomorrow, will I be older?Come tomorrow, may be a soldierCome tomorrow, may I be bolder than today?
Now the trees are almost greenBut will they still be seenWhen time and tide have been?
Oh, into your passing handsPlease don't destroy these landsDon't make them desert sands.