Time runs through our fingers—liquid gold,
racing toward the rivers of the past.
No matter how we grasp and try to hold,
treasured moments run away too fast.
Each instant lived is one that will not last.
If we ignore its value, we are told
that time’s a finite resource, not so vast,
and Golden Years too soon will just be old.
We cannot capture time, and save the magic—
all those slipping seconds, and the thrill
of youth, and love. The prospect seems so tragic,
much time is wasted wishing time stood still.
Yet on it flows, eventually finding level,
and gilding memories with precious metal.
