Moving Finger

The moving finger writes
And writing, it moves on
The tale told of time
And time its telling tolls
Each moment here and now
Each moment here and gone
Remembered for all time
Or swiftly forgotten
Who tells the moving finger
What moments to record?
What makes a golden memory
Or one of being bored?
What shapes the heart,
The mind the soul
If not each moments span?
Each moment spinning
Forth such dreams
Such hopes, such cares
Such thoughts.
The moving finger halts
And then the page is turned
But where the book is kept
Is something never learned.

E.M. Swift-Hook