A poem on mortality....and immortality

'Till last by Phillip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river
For men may come and men may go
But I go on forever
*Alfred Lord Tennyson*
( The Brook )
~
Forever

Still flows the brook, by Brody's wood
Across MacKenzie's moor
And I still go to visit there
Where willows grace the shore

Where fragile lilies bowed to drink
From waters fresh with dew
All is as it always was,
Yet everything is new

Lilting songs composed in Spring
By churning waters laughing
Still there today in whispers sing
To tell of ages passing

Pussywillows bend and dance
To breezes soft and sighing
And here and there a cricket's call
Proclaims the daytime dying

Seasons come and seasons go
And each one in it's greeting
Sings noble tones and melodies
And each, in turn, is fleeting

Someday we to dust return
And leave but changing ashes
And soon our footsteps disappear
Within the springtime's grasses

'Till last across the glen is heard
The pipes in solemn mourning
To grieve the passing of the years
And another season turning

Yes, seasons come and seasons go
'Till each shall join the river
And still the brook, by Brody's wood
Flows constant and forever