Time, that old imposter, who kids you its on your side,
in your early years embrace it, with both arms open wide
for soon its perfidious nature will steal your youth away,
minute by minute, hour by hour, day by insidious day.
The signs are not apparent, the symptoms surreptitious.
Your hair falls out, you get the gout and all against your wishes.
Each day you wake you start to ache in another new place or two,
The doctor sees more of you naked than your wife ever used to do.
Days flash by then months and years at an exponential rate
stop the world, I want to get off, before its all too late.
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
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