Is time such a fleeting thing?
Who can finish what they start?
The years flee and seasons bring,
An age that chills the dying heart.
Time is not measured by the mile,
Nor the ticking of a clock;
It's measured by the tear and smile,
That stands and ages like a rock.
If time could be a friend, not foe,
Then it would really matter;
If we gained wisdom, from what we know,
Then the world we knew, would not shatter.
Time is no friend of mine,
It races by me, like a blur;
But it does no good to whine,
Or berate what instances occur.
Time is not on our side,
It moves too fast for that;
And memories we cannot hide,
When we wonder where at.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem