A little girl sat by the brookside,
Her lap was filled with flowers
Gleaned from wayside and meadow,
Since the early morning hours.
She cast one on the current,
And laughed in childish glee,
As it gaily danced on its pebbly road,
Toward the distant sea.
Others took their seaward journey,
Until all were lost to view,
Ere she realized her losses
With no longer time to renew.
Then she wept with bitter anguish
For the fruit of her morning hours,
And cried in bitter accents,
“O Brook, bring back my flowers!”
So we sit on the brink of the river;
The joys of childhood are passed,
We rejoiced as we saw them fleeting,
But they yield only sorrow at last.
Life is full of trials and troubles,
Unknown in our childhood hours,
And in vain we cry with the little girls,
O Time, bring back my flowers!
We planned to do some great thing-
Become enrolled in the Temple of Fame-
To convince the world of our greatness,
And leave and enviable name.
We planned to build great castles,
High and wondrously fair,
But alas! our plans were faulty,
And our castles were built in the air.
* Author Unknown. I found this poem in one of my Father’s old books. The “New Dictionary of Thoughts” has been sitting by my bed for months now, and for some reason I felt like opening it’s worn red cover today. This is one of a few torn out pages from another book with no title or author printed. I just discovered a treasure chest full of beautiful language; the poems all relate to the sea, to the life of a sailor, and in many ways to my life at the present moment. There are no coincidences.