Beaky's Blather

Once we’re old, life moves on, at a quickening pace.
As we age time speeds up, like we’re ending a race.
Breakfast comes around more quickly, it seems,

that my life may be programmed…. by a clock in my genes

When young, each day seemed, an incredible span,
every minute passed slowly, as only time can.
back then, as a child, clocks seemed to almost stand still.

Time could never run out…. I had it to kill.

Later, a young man, I’d use time as I need,

whatever it took to achieve and succeed.

To do the things that I wanted, I had plenty you see,

there was time in my future…. to become what I’d be.

There seemed no limit, so much time stretched out far ahead.

I planned my future in a calendar, but I find now instead
that I need a stopwatch for what’s left, I see that I ought,

the minutes seem fewer….and the hours seem

short.

I wonder if young folk have this realisation,

that time’s an express flying past through the station.

We must be ready to jump on, be nimble and fast,

or our daybook will be empty…. and our future, our past. 

So look at your time sheet, there’s not much to waste.

Whether you know it or not, time is passing in haste.

You can’t slow it down but you can use it better.

Send yourself an email…. don’t send a letter.

Fill your calendar quickly while you’ve some time remaining.

Employ each minute well, be it sunny or raining.

Whilst you’re dawdling, time passes, it flits by and goes,

whilst you’re strolling in poetry…. time’s sprinting – in prose.