When I’m unhappy with the now,
I take myself away
And swing upon the highest bough
To pass the time of day,
And stroll along the riverbank
Where anglers like to go
And speak with ones of every rank,
The noble, mean and low.
And yet, for all the time I kill,
I know there is no time:
I’m sitting on the very hill
I’ve just begun to climb.
And that’s the thing with life on Earth:
We die before we’re given birth.
Photo by DAVIDCOHEN on Unsplash
Time (3)
