there is no heresy

there's much to do and little time we're told
to do it all in and yet we each must find
within our hearts and deep in every mind
not just firm metal but the purest gold
the year changes from cold to hot to cold
and yet each day we're at the same old grind
driven by fear that we'll be left behind
and find ourselves to have become too old
now here's the deal at least we're so informed
the numbers change and so do all the signs
trees and machines mark out the hectic times
and yet we know that every heart that warmed
at sight of flower's been caught on age's tines
leaving us here with pale memory and rhymes