The hands on the clock move slow…
When you are young and energized.
You’ve got things to see and places to go.
Patience is difficult when time is paralyzed.
Middle-aged achievers have met with success.
They barely have a minute to catch their breath.
There are children and aging parents to address.
You’re between adventures and impending death.
You now find yourself traveling down a slope.
The incline gets steeper, as each hour slip away.
You’ve had many challenges and learned to cope.
The final hour is arriving; there will be no delay.
6/21/07
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely done canvassing the generations of life. It seems that each generation has its own priorities and sense of time. The young concentrate on doing things and not the time it takes, the middle-aged find that they must contend with time not having enough of it, and the elderly think of time left and what it might allow them to do. Or something like that.