There were days of the past
when days were days.
And the glare of the future
was the glare of the moon of the night.
And the present a present
like a blink and a twink of the eye.

But then the cowbells rang,
and the church bells rang,
and the morning was a mourning's day.

For the young became old
and saw what they never knew.
And the old became older
with nothing to do.
But the sun and the moon
never knew such sorrow.