Sonnet 76, If I Would Pass Tomorrow Poem by Peter S. Quinn

If I would pass tomorrow I would be lost,
For I have not found existence at all;
Every flower that gets around tossed,
Will give up its life before there is fall.
Escape in moments that are with us stilled,
All days to be forgot, as hours pass by;
Nothing comes back that the minute has spilled,
It loses its grip and breaks up each tie.
Fountains of our youth are treasured within,
Dimly come the moods that dwell there hidden;
Fate with all outlooks takes the roundest spin,
All what is useless, oblivion's ridden.
Drift not for your answers into the strait,
Hours and the minutes for none ever wait.