Classic Poem

Be kind to her
O Time.
She is too much afraid of you
Because yours is a land unknown,
Wintry, dark and lone.

'Tis not for her
To pass
Boldly upon your roadless waste.
Roads she loves, and the bright ringing
Of quick heels, and clear singing.

She is afraid
Of Time,
Forty to seventy sadly fearing ...
O, all those unknown years,
And these sly, stoat-like fears!

Shake not on her
Your snows,
But on the rich, the proud, the wise
Who have that to make them glow
With warmth beneath the snow.

If she grow old
At last,
Be it yet unknown to her; that she
Not until her last prayer is prayed
May whisper, " I am afraid! "