Premonitions

There's a shadow on the grass

that was never there before,

and the ripples as they pass

whisper of an unseen oar;

And the song we knew by rote,

seems to falter in the throat,

a footfall, scarcely noted,

lingers near the open door.

Omens that were once but jest,

Now are messengers of Fate;

and the blessing held the best

cometh not or comes too late.

Yet what ever life may lack,

not a blown leaf beckons back,

Forward! Forward! is the summons.

Forward! Where new horizons wait.