The wild of sky is skimmed by windy cloud
and childhood days are filled with whirling sun,
Each timeless minute with an hour’s endowed
through days and weeks and years our lives are spun.
Inexorably, children feel time’s pull.
We woo, and love, by rose-filled candlelight,
We birth our babes, with glass of life now full
of days defying time; no thought of night.
But now we see our parents growing old.
These once immortal gods appear so frail,
Their grasp on life and love they cannot hold
Against our Mistress Time they’ll not prevail.
From birth to death, it seems but naught an age
As Time – she laughs, and simply turns the page.