Then And Now

When I was five, and eight, and ten,

     I looked across the span

Of seeming distant, weary years,

     And longed to be a man.

“Why don’t they come,” I cried aloud,

     “Those years when I shall know

All things men know, the good and bad,

     Why must they be so slow?”

Manhood at last came into view,

     And then the race began;

Each year, with ever gaining speed,

     The passing one outran.

“Why don’t they stop,” I cry aloud

     “Why won’t they let me stay?”

But no; like flying steeds the years

     Are galloping away.

July 6, ‘05