The touch of time by Meezer3

I love our pleasant, quaint old Mill, It still recalls my boyish prime; ’T is changed since then, and so am I, We both have known the touch of time: The mill is crumbling in decay, And I—my hair is early gray. I stand beside the stream of Life, And watch the current sweep along: And when the flood-gates of my heart Are raised it turns the wheel of Song: But scant, as yet, the harvest brought From out the golden fields of Thought! via 500px http://j.mp/1uAc8ZJ