The Delicate Arc Poem by Thomas Hooker

I see it's gone, the season's sun,
alone in what will be no more,
to reconcile the loss with the journey,
lovely chapters of days long past.

To climb the rocks and trees with exuberance,
swing from branches, swim underwater,
To run, throw, shoot and dribble,
do handstands and cart-wheels in the grass.

Precious time, lost seeds blowing downwind,
to reconcile the loss with what we still can do.
The aged soul once captured, lives within a life
and to relish the delicate arc we all traverse.