Shapes of things before my eyes

Just teach me to despise

Will time make men more wise?



Here within my lonely frame

My eyes just hurt my brain

But will it seem the same?



Come tomorrow, will I be older?

Come tomorrow, may be a soldier

Come tomorrow, may I be bolder than today?



Now the trees are almost green

But will they still be seen

When time and tide have been?



Oh, into your passing hands

Please don't destroy these lands

Don't make them desert sands.





(copyright 1966 b.feldman