Sweet seventeen! Ah, glorious seventeen!
I wellcome thee to join the previous years
And lay thy hand upon me. Thou art clean,
Thou hast so far no tell-tale stains or smears,
Oh eighteenth year, but no to thee I sing.
Thy time will come when twelve more months are past.
But seventeen completed are at last,
And I have lived to see my seventeenth spring.
Too quickly come the years. E’en now the best
That Time can offer may have been my lot
And nothing more for memory to recall.
Of this I can be sure, Time gives no rest;
But with a steady hand that falters not,
Will lead me on in strictest intervals.