Should auld acquaintence be forgot
and left to linger on mountintop?
Should hope despair and knowledge waste
amid the turns of unwarrented haste?
Will friendship wither into dust
and is blood red but the red of rust?
Will aught last beyond the darkest years
and, dying, refuse to release her tears?
And is today but tomorrow's dream,
a wish that, in despair, hope still gleams?
Should silence remain, and remaining, decay,
and will we all last unto other days?
A whisper. A worry. A tremble of song.
Nothing to see. 'Twill not last long.