Sonnet-Time

Time starts ticking, the moment one is born, Appearing too short for things to be done; And Time ceases when over is sojourn; To some ’tis long and ’tis always great fun. Time is so precious that some waste it not; So they race ’gainst it, to pull off great feats; Time is a web in which some men get caught; However short, one still can be a Keats! A Scientist’s life-time’s not enough for him; A lazy-bone finds Time not fleeting still; Time’s an empty vessel, tho’ filled to brim! Time’s a feeling of descending the hill. When prudently used then, Time appears long; A mile to a fool is just a furlong. 7-19-2000