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Robert W Service - Periods
Work rating: Low

My destiny it is tonight
     To sit with pensive brow
Beside my study fire and write
     This verse I`m making now.
This Period, this tiny dot
     My pencil has defined,
By centuries of human thought
               Was predestined.

And my last period of all
     With patience now I see;
The final point so very small,
     That locks my life for me.
Yet in eternity of time
     They relatively seem
So like,—the dot that rounds my rhyme
               Or ends my dream.

For each was preordained by Fate
     Since human life began;
So are the little and the great
     Linked in the life of man.
And as I wait without heartache
     The pencil-point of God,
To pattern predestined I make
               This———.
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