Poem

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Time's the Master Critic,
  Only he can say
What, among these verses,
Good and bad and worse is --
  What will live for aye.

This which I consider
  Good, as verses go,
Time might care no whit for,
Not a little bit for.
  How is one to know?

This which I might pass up
  As of little worth,
Time might choose and cherish
Till the nations perish
  From the face of Earth.

Since in every case, then,
  I should be in doubt,
Why should I assay them?
Why attempt to weigh them?
  Time will sort em out.


© Bert Leston Taylor