Poetry Press: Lucia Clark Markham
What shall I do with the remaining
hours?
Life passes by with no urgent demands,
No vital services await my hands,
No inspiration for my waning powers;
How shall I find the Place of Peace where
flowers
Of truth and loyalty are blooming through
The golden largess that our lives accrue
From the successive aeons' lavish dowers?
This is the time to purge and expiate,
Time to appraise the failing personal,
To search and ponder and evaluate
The hidden forces that all thought control,
To weave earth's themes that hearten or appal
Into the syllogism of the soul.
