,.,.,.,,

I'm leaving this place once again, looking from the window of a frozen train.

,.,.,.,,.,.,.,.

" They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last."