Sonnet 12, Into Oblivion

The hour is leaving into oblivion:
With everything old turning to dust
For what can man keep moth and ruptured rust?
Or what for a while - was here just agone;
And through the years with peaceful wings atone
Which in life were tried out - completed to adjust,
Thus from earth to sky flown away, almost:
To drift in dreams that came from thoughts alone.

Man wings shall fly where his musings shall go,
Like depth of the sky will open to few
And knowing the river that runs to the sea;
The updraft will just turn as it must blow
And some may not see the morning's fresh dew,
For what is more beautiful than the true free?