Young plants laugh—
carefree in the wind,
smiling at the sun,
whispering, “Time waits for us.”
They sway,
but do not root.
They stretch upward
without drawing deep.
Still they hum, “Time is a friend.”
Unaware—
of the soil's silent pleading,
the richness beneath,
the mercy in the earth.
They hope for a tomorrow
not promised.
Wisdom calls—
“Serve Me in the days of your youth.”
But they chant back,
loud in their pride,
“We are the pulse of this age!”
The Master stands,
hands open,
eyes full of knowing:
Take position.
Take your place.
And I,
a quiet observer,
a hopeful heart,
wonder—
Will they hear Him in time?
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;
-- Ecclesiastes 12:1
KJV Holy Bible