Time, when it has passed, seems but a twinkling of an eye,
An hour one wishes over with drags ever so slowly by,

The future always seems to be an endless stream of days,
We forget that tenuous life is a finite string of comedic plays,

All too often one suddenly finds the end abruptly looms,
In the attic of mortal inquiry there are no more unopened rooms,

Don't ever look back, my friend, avoid any fond regrets,
This brief encounter with life surely can't be as good as it gets,

Transition time will come inevitably to one and all,
Be constantly ready to answer that still, small voice of the Master's call.

                                                          by D. Edgar Murray