So many minds have contemplated Time,
And one day dubbed him fast, the next day slow,
Yet each knows he’s as constant as the tide—
‘Tis merely thinking such that makes things so.
He plays no favorite with us mortal things…
The tortoise and the hare each have their hour,
And like as such the changing seasons bring,
Both life and death to every living flower—
For Time’s not fast or slow—but he is just;
Majestic mountains shall be future sand,
And in such changing we may place our trust—
The vastest oceans are tomorrow’s land.
So come then, take my hand and walk with me,
And in proud step we’ll mock eternity.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.