Father Time

At first he takes your hand Leads you gently across the sand Takes his time in his long stride As you consider him a friend In thoughts of younger days He seems to stand in place With knowing smile he crimps your style As you have no need to wait Then in the blinking of an eye Time quickly slides you by Now holding hands in the swirl of quicksand Too many questions as to why Coming to the age old turn Finding you're too far immersed And the crooked line with father time Has finally run its course