On wings of speed the time flies by -
With cheerless haste it goes.
It vanishes before our eyes
Like fields of melting snow.
Each mindless minute slips away,
Each hour, each month and year;
The days of youth, our middle years,
Too quickly disappear.
Christmastime soon comes and goes,
Then Easter’s here again,
But the speed at which the clock ticks
Is for everyone the same.
If you are rich or you are poor,
From the day of your first breath,
You’ll never slow your clock of life
Until you meet your death.
Copyright on all my poems
This poem was chosen by teachers for publication in 2010.
(AMS Educational Ltd, Leeds)