Silent steps from the deep end of Eternity
Seem to echo more mournfully down the corridors of your life.
The long march of a tall man
Casting his lengthening shadow slowly toward your fretful feet
Every minute: missed
Some days: distressed
Every week: wanting
Some months: mourning the more
Every season: seeking still
Each year, a year of no lesser yearning
A year yet lacking resolution: learning,
That a coming to terms with ‘coming to terms’
Comes only in its own time…
Only on its own terms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What wisdom is woven into the last verse of this piece. Explaining the phrase 'coming to terms' with such ingenuity, I felt anyone would feel more comforted by the sense of this than by most sermons. thank you Tony.