FATHER TIME
I saw the old thief, Father Time,
Came hirpling down the road,
He had a sack upon his back;
Lost minutes were his load,
He opened it and showed to me,
Not minutes, but a host,
Of years, decades a century
Or more of minutes lost,
"I want to buy a year," I said,
"And I shall pay you well."
"If this Earth's mould were finest gold,
to you I would not sell,
For I have minutes stolen from Kings,
From Milton, Shakespeare and Bach,
How could you buy such precious things,
Your common gold is trash?"
He tied his sack and said,
"Farewell, young man, I have got my fee."
For while I tried to make him sell,
He stole an hour from me.
Harvey Scott