The flowers are but brief to cherish
And our regard once gone is scant;
From the moment we do perish,
Our life's worth is no more plant.
We carry no roots to the earth,
No pledge that we shall bloom next year,
Our seasons come with sad and mirth,
Both shine and storm we have to bear.
We are as flowers out of soil,
We have such a short time to grow;
Ere winter comes to end our toil,
Love what you have before it go.
Love that life for ‘tis a short show,
Ours is not to exist ahead;
For we are as fleeting as snow,
And that of life, this much we dread.
The flowers are but brief to cherish,
And we are as brief as them still,
From the moment we do perish,
All we were is all the space we fill.
Declan O'Reilly
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