To Fly
Time is that which you cannot flee
it flies faster as you grow gray;
what once was twig is now a tree;
grown tall and wild upon the brae.
You once moved faster than the wind,
the daring, dashing youth that flew;
and as to time itself; you grinned
it’s ticking, it meant naught to you.
Time now flies such as once you did
ten sunsets now do pass as one.
One last bravura from your id;
hope you enjoyed the flight, and fun.
Copyright © Terry Miller | Year Posted 2025
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