The Hourglass
In our youth the sand appeared always to creep,
But because we were young we scarcely paid heed.
It continuously drained in awake hours and sleep,
This unassuming hourglass was performing its deed.
In youth, why time crept was a burning question,
But by middle age sand seemed to hurry on through.
As we sought for opinions or perhaps suggestion,
As to how we could slow it, but what could we do?
As we continued to age, the sands pace now fast,
Aging is persistent placing us in time's throes.
We began to have thoughts our sand might not last,
Because now at warp speed, with fluidity, it flows;
The hourglass continues sifting sand by the minute,
And our lives, in part, have become time's slave.
We're often distressed over the amount left in it,
As each grain of sand moves us closer to our grave.
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