The things we value in ourselves
Will slip away as time goes on;
Each vanity, each bit of pride
Is tied up in some thing soon gone.
For we are temporary parts
Within a play that goes on still,
Just moving limbs and beating hearts
Within a larger sort of will
That is a strange reflection of
The hopes we fancy first in youth,
And that we learn, through pain and hope
Are there to point us towards

The truth