the stuff of eternity?

life washes over the earth   

moons and seasons wash over the earth,

little and large things
leaf, flower, and seed,
grow tall until the fall calls them,
little and large things
scurry and etch a life
and lose themselves,
and we lose them,

and their passing is like a wind
that we seemed to feel,
and oh-so-quickly becomes but memory,

we humans, too, are not the stuff eternity is made on,
and we, too, can wash over the earth,
and leave but a trace behind,
everything we build seems as mirror to ourselves
so that in grandness and repetition
we count ourselves as enduring,

and maybe it’s so
if who we are furthers life itself
and not just the selfish genes
that are part of who we are.

by Henry H. Walker
November 24, ’12