Waiting For Life To Begin

When we are younger we all can't wait until we get older. And then as we age we all wonder where the time went. We realize how fast time goes by. Here you will find verses about life, and not waiting as the days are going by faster than we realize.

As Kate Summers said, "We are given but one life either to grow it or to plow it under." And we all know to grow anything we have to take action, we can't just sit around.

For those graduating the words of Edmond Mbiaka offer good advice, "Life is too short to be waiting around for opportunities to come in your direction. You must go out there like a hunter and hunt them down."

Short Poems   /   Poems About Life    /   Waiting For Life To Begin - related: Life Quotes



  1. Waiting For Life
    Poet: Julie Hebert, ©2011

    Life as a child went too slow.
    But now that I'm older,
    I'm somewhat unsure,
    Of why growing up quick was needed so.

    Even grown, I still am prone,
    To wondering when my real like will begin.
    First school, then first jobs, first apartments, some in between sobs,
    Life is much more than just jumping in.

    As you grow, you learn, although,
    Sometimes it's out of your control.
    Going with it, without feeling unfit,
    Can help you achieve your goal.

    With a little bit of patience, and a little bit of maintenance,
    You will one day achieve your goal.
    Just do what you can, with what you have in plan,
    And one day you will feel whole.



    2. Don't wait for tomorrow - Live today!


  2. Have Today
    Poet: Pearl Yeadon McGinnis

    I have no Yesterdays,
    Time took them away;
    Tomorrow may not be
    But I have today.



  3. The Days Are Going By
    Poet: Unknown

    There are lonely hearts to cherish,
    While the days are going by;
    There are weary souls who perish,
    While the days are going by.


    4. If a smile we can renew
    As our journey we pursue,
    Oh, the good we all may do
    As the days are going by.

    There's no time for idle scorning,
    As the days are going by;
    Let your face be like the morning
    As the days are going by.

    Oh, the world is full of sighs,
    Full of sad and weeping eyes;
    Help your fallen brother rise,
    As the days are going by.


  4. The Golden Side
    Poet: Unknown

    There's many a rest on the road of life,
    If we only would stop to take it;
    And many a tone from the better land,
    If the querulous heart would wake it.
    To the sunny soul that is full of hope,
    And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth,
    The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
    Though the wintry storm prevaileth.

    Better to hope though the clouds hang low,
    And to keep the eyes still lifted;
    For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through,
    When the ominous clouds are rifted.
    There was never a night without a day,
    Nor an evening without a morning ;
    And the darkest hour, the proverb goes,
    Is the hour before the dawning.

    There is many a gem in the path of life,
    Which we pass in our idle pleasure,
    That is richer far than the jewelled crown
    Or the miser's hoarded treasure;
    It may be the love of a little child,
    Or the mother's prayer to Heaven,
    Or only a beggar's grateful thanks
    For a cup of water given.

    Better to weave in the web of life
    A bright and golden filling,
    And to do God's will with a ready heart,
    And hands that are swift and willing,
    Than to snap the delicate silver threads
    Of our curious lives asunder,
    And then Heav'n blame for the tangled ends,
    And sit and grieve and wonder.



  5. What Have I Done?
    Poet: Lillian Blanche Fearing

    I lay my finger on Time's wrist to score
    The forward-surging moments as they roll;
    Each pulse seems quicker than the one before;
    And lo! my days pile up against my soul
    As clouds pile up against the golden sun;
    Alas! What have I done? What have I done?

    I never steep the rosy hours in sleep,
    Or hide my soul, as in a gloomy crypt;
    No idle hands into my bosom creep;
    And yet, as water-drops from house-eaves drip,
    So, viewless, melt my days, and from me run;
    Alas! What have I done? What have I done?

    I have not missed the fragrance of the flowers,
    Or scorned the music of the flowing rills,
    Whose numerous liquid tongues sing to the hours;
    Yet rise my days behind me, like the hills,
    Unstarred by light of mighty triumphs won;
    Alas! What have I done? What have I done?

    Be still, my soul; restrain thy lips from woe!
    Cease thy lament! for life is but the flower;
    The fruit comes after death; how canst thou know
    The roundness of its form, its depth of power?
    Death is life's morning. When thy work's begun,
    Then ask thyself - What yet is to be done?

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