One by one all things must go
to the past, forgotten as we grow.
Dreams of grandeur fall by the way
put aside for another day.
Time to be and time to dream
a time to plan, a time to scheme.
Tomorrow is another day
we put aside in lieu of play.
Too far gone to realize
how distant now the dreamed of prize.
The hunger subsides as our eyes dim
the fever cools and dies within.
The death of dreams, as with all
becomes the dream, the final call.
With no regrets, we are all called home
as we write the final line in our tome.