Poem Poem by Bert Leston Taylor

Time's the Master Critic,
Only he can say
What, among these verses,
Good and bad and worse is --
What will live for aye.

This which I consider
Good, as verses go,
Time might care no whit for,
Not a little bit for.
How is one to know?

This which I might pass up
As of little worth,
Time might choose and cherish
Till the nations perish
From the face of Earth.

Since in every case, then,
I should be in doubt,
Why should I assay them?
Why attempt to weigh them?
Time will sort em out.