A Sonnet about Time
Once, long ago, Time seemed my happy friend,
My perfect friend, chilled, easy, ever-giving,
His manner promised summers without end;
We thrilled together to the joy of living.
Now he’s so different. He’s grudging, dull,
Mean and restrictive, nastier each year.
His skull-eyed stare suggests an urge to cull
Lurks there as subtext to his every sneer.
To even think of Time’s now a reminder
That I have slipped well past my Best-By Date;
Yet if Time lied back then when he seemed kinder,
Why trust him in this new, unpleasing state?
Ignore his snarking that the best is gone.
Relish each moment. Keep on keeping on.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, George Simmers would be pleased to hear them.