Sonnet 37, Each Time Is Fresh Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Each time is fresh when it is steady on,
And every beauty therein is quite still;
But future moments come and old are gone,
Though longings, memories in time up fill.
Remember this when you look on to see,
Each of moments, breathing its breath away;
To eyes they dwell too short and then are free,
Nothing here but momentarily will stay.
A burning kindle life is onward here,
With many tempers who are otherwise;
Though some are always more closer and dear,
So it may shedder tears from one's eyes.
The world is all of pleasures and sorrows,
But there will always be new tomorrows.