As time marches forward, I’d like to know,
What will become of my shallow footprints?
For time I have spent, what have I to show?
The path I have made fades, leaving no hints
Of all of my efforts, struggles, and strife,
My days are they empty, just time wasted?

How will I tell of the years of my life,

Who will know of the joys I have tasted?
Shall I by book or in pictures or song


Share the import of my life’s worth of days?
But when wrinkles grow deep and shadows long
My life will be told in laugh lines and grays
My early footprints not even a trace,
Their impact is clear all over my face.