I turn 58 today and some observations seem in order.
Time seems to move faster the older
I get. I feel like I enjoy life more but I have less time for it.
People who have always been
older than me, pastors, heroes and the like, are now younger.
My children are now the age that
I feel I still am, inside.
If I am going to accomplish
something more significant than I already have, I better get at it.
I better figure out what I want
to be when I grow up!
The blacks and whites of my
youth have faded to a more grace-full grey, along with my hair.
Some years ago I wrote a poem about the passing of time.
I thought I might repost it here because, really, “Something Must be Done About Time!”
Something must be done about time.
A day ago I held my baby in my arms.
She was small and needy,
Helpless in fact.
I held her close and kept her warm.
Something must be done about time.
An hour ago I held my little girl's hand.
She was scared and uncertain,
Unsure of herself.
I held it fast and kept her safe.
Something must be done about time.
A minute ago I held my daughter to me.
She was hurt and crying,
Confused by men.
I held her tight and shared my strength.
Something must be done about time.
A second ago I held a young woman's arm.
She was tall and strong,
Full of life.
I let her go and watched her leave.
I let her go and...
I let her go.
Something must be done about time.
A day ago I held my baby in my arms.
She was small and needy,
Helpless in fact.
I held her close and kept her warm.
Something must be done about time.
An hour ago I held my little girl's hand.
She was scared and uncertain,
Unsure of herself.
I held it fast and kept her safe.
Something must be done about time.
A minute ago I held my daughter to me.
She was hurt and crying,
Confused by men.
I held her tight and shared my strength.
Something must be done about time.
A second ago I held a young woman's arm.
She was tall and strong,
Full of life.
I let her go and watched her leave.
I let her go and...
I let her go.
Something must be done about time.
