There comes a time in each man’s life:
 when, cavil sees a contest.
It whispers a forsaken strife,
and minds last avant-garde of protest.

No more vain glories, vied, or sought
in wildness of adventure.
Its challenge, of lives, amorous mort.
Self-delving into real times danger.

Eld’s onward rush its effort earned,
 its foison slowly fading.
Our étourderie shows little learned:
in hastes of yester ways, and yearning.

Tide’s time displays, in auric sands:
Life’s setting sun. Man understands

. Mor.