Time Poem by Eric Bult

How brief the days of childhood: we believed
Were so much longer as we waited for
Some special joy that we had long conceived
And prove that we would never wish for more.
Now in these days when uncompleted tasks
Claim our attention everywhere we look,
Nor debtors pay before your banker asks
When you propose to recoup debits in your book,
Time is compressed within implaccable
Boundaries which govern us this way.
No actions taken are reversible:
We only may apologise and pay.

But boyhood comes again when we retire
To brighten time before we must expire.