The Superseded
As newer comers crowd the fore,We drop behind.—We who have laboured long and soreTimes out of mind,And keen are yet, must not regretTo drop behind.
Yet there are of us some who grieveTo go behind;Staunch, strenuous souls who scarce believeTheir fires declined,And know none cares, remembers, sparesWho go behind.
’Tis not that we have unforetoldThe drop behind;We feel the new must oust the oldIn every kind;But yet we think, must we, must we,Too, drop behind?
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.