December 20, 2020
When just a lad the days inched by.
Now up in years they seem to fly.
A day made up a chunk back then,
A decent slice from start to end.
But now a day is but a drop
A tiny ripple made on top.
My bucket’s full of days now past,
So hard to hold, they go so fast.
I’m grateful for these precious few
Remaining days left to accrue.
I pray the moments spent in rhyme
End up a worthy use of time.
At least I exercise my brain,
Not likely to incur a sprain.
My rhymes are offered as a gift.
I pray they give to some a lift.