there comes a time <br />when the fire we have tended, <br />calls for new hands. <br />when the wind we have rode, <br />beckons for new friends. <br />and when the path that <br />leads to discovery, <br />needs a new body, a new soul. <br />when the battle for justice, <br />calls for new voices. <br />leaves turn brown and fall, <br />and winter snows come. <br />but spring always returns, <br />with new leaves and new song. <br />take what we have given, <br />and build an even bigger fire. <br />spread your wings, taste the sky, <br />past the limits of our endurance. <br />and when you get to the top <br />of the highest mountain... <br />the applause you hear <br />will be the ghosts of old poets. <br /> <br />shine on!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-young-poets/
