an edge to the page

the view that changes but remains the same
the angle of vision that provides the view
enough each day that we know will ensue
what fills the field will barely fit the frame
yet this is not a simple children's game
but life itself the marker of what's due
to all who stayed as well as those who flew
beyond our reach beyond the reach of shame
the sounds we hear are different every day
sufficient in themselves to please the ear
but not to wake in us the stern resolve
that should in time propel us to the way
beyond the margins of the fading year
as we around the castle would revolve