Graduation Day (XII)

The past of the future,
is what we are living in;
and we, the progeny of nature,
are mere guests at the Present inn.

The rooms of this inn are not all good.
Some I would change, if I could.

In the house of Tomorrow,
dwells our destiny;
in it awaits us happiness and sorrow—
try I will to drink away the cup of misery.

Memories come your way—
some pungent, others fragrantly gay.

Gazing back at the myriad lights of a city called Past,
some burning bright, as if born to last,
while others dimming out frightfully fast.

I like to think of the former as fireflies—
burning angels are they, fading into the skies.

Come what may,
like a sea of poppies in the wind, let yourself sway.
Let not the palace of illusions blow you off your feet;
let the queen in you be the mistress of your dreams.

May the Hall of Fame rhapsodize over your grand feat,
May your existence be synonymous with all that gleams.