This poem was read out at his funeral as the family felt that it helped to sum up his life.
‘Tis a time to think when you’re growing old,
When the days grow short and the nights grow cold.
The eyes grow dim, yet still they see,
Through the mists of time,
A time to remember long ago,
Of a happy childhood spent like a summer’s morn,
One fleeting moment stay, that I may still recall,
Ere my memory fails and I wonder not,
Of a time of youth my life to live,
But cared not I, for the earth was warm and
The joys of loving ours to give.
Would I not linger yet again by the purple hills and unlit plain,
Of a manhood rudely spent,
On foreign soil on warfare bent,
A time of action, no time to think,
Of a time of marriage, loving, caring.
My bride all others thus forsaking.
Being father, teaching, learning.
But most of all as the years go by,
Of a time of sons all tall and three,
Bright of eye and parents’ pride,
All separate ways in life must weave,
A pattern in the mind of each,
On a life matured by wisdom’s touch,
Reflect upon these priceless thoughts.
But wonder not at what was spring,
The past is mine,
©Edward Lewis Pogson 1978