The past is a different country where we used to live.
We can't visit there either because it is very far away.
The present and the past are separated by a great expanse.
The past seems farther away each day, and dimmer as well.
It is a bittersweet nostalgia that nothing can comfort,
Like the crying child whose balloon has escaped his grasp
And goes flying high among the treetops, lost forever.
Memories of the past we carry with us are both good and bad,
But they are distorted by time and space and happenstance.
Our journey from past to present was brisk, looking back,
And our journey into the future seems even brisker still.
We face each morning with the thought, "Aha, one day more,"
Each day ends with, "Oh, no, one day less," and with regret.
The time to rejoice is in the now, not in the rest!
We can't visit there either because it is very far away.
The present and the past are separated by a great expanse.
The past seems farther away each day, and dimmer as well.
It is a bittersweet nostalgia that nothing can comfort,
Like the crying child whose balloon has escaped his grasp
And goes flying high among the treetops, lost forever.
Memories of the past we carry with us are both good and bad,
But they are distorted by time and space and happenstance.
Our journey from past to present was brisk, looking back,
And our journey into the future seems even brisker still.
We face each morning with the thought, "Aha, one day more,"
Each day ends with, "Oh, no, one day less," and with regret.
The time to rejoice is in the now, not in the rest!
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