All That Is Pleasant Poem by Barry A. Lanier

Picturesque blooms wilt only to die,
Sunny days end, in darkened skies.
Slashes of blue turn to patches of gray,
All that is pleasant passes away.

Youth has it's glory, life has it's fame,
The petal is gone, yet the thorn remains.
The glory of victory, the agony of pain,
All that is pleasant passes away.

Countless friends that were, only a few remain,
Age seems to assure, might forget their names.
Old time tradition, never will stay,
All that is pleasant passes away.