Time

Back to Poetry Index
Back to Home

* * *

Our friendship cannot last the pitiless march of time.
What once seemed magic now to time is prey;
No time to seek out other pleasures rare,
No time to talk, there's time no more to play;
Stale custom starts to take the place of joy;
A moment stolen, then he's on his way.

The days of leisure are a memory;
We meet in haste and time brooks no delay.
Best cut the bonds and go our separate paths
Than drag things out to the inevitable day
When ecstacy and joy from lack of nurture fade
And all must end; and he will go away.

Or should I, heedless, just ignore the pain, the tears?
Knowing that soon the end comes anyway?
And grasp what little happiness I can;
Forget the future, live just for the day?
What e're I do the end will come, and soon!
That day's approaching when he'll go away.