This My Life

I strive to keep me in the sun;

I pick no quarrel with the years,

Nor with the Fates, not even the one

That holds the shears.

I take occasion by the hand;

I'm not too nice 'twixt weed and flower;

I do not stay to understand;

I take mine hour.

The time is short enough at best.

I push right onward while I may;

I open to the winds my breast,

And walk the way.

A kind heart greets me here and there;

I hide from it my doubts and fears.

I trudge, and say the path is fair

Along the years.