Sir, I am a poor man
I have not money nor home
so I beg in the street,
so very alone

I don't ask for your money,
I don't ask for your purse
but I beg thee for something
with even more worth

I don't ask you for house
or mansion or hut,
I won't pick your pockets
and your purse I won't cut

I won't ask for fine clothes
or a warm meal to eat
I won't ask you for blankets

Time is a thief,
a tyrant,
cruel

Time is a friend,
a companion,
a rule

It rushes along
it hurries,
fights

And I don't really think
that this
is right

Shouldn't we take
all the time
we have?

Why shouldn't we stroll
instead of life
running past?

Time is a thief
that steals
a soul

Time is a tyrant
sitting on
its throne

Time is not about
to go
away,

Can you wait just a minute,
and forget right this second,
think back to the past,
and lay down our weapons?

Forget what we've heard
from different sources,
and break down our walls
and knock down the fortress

Put aside the battles
we've lost and won,
work together,
all for one

Forget what's just happened,
start over again,
now is a time
when we can be friends.

This world began, one day, far back
In time so long ago, forgotten;
Yet, you have writ it in your book:
How even time’s from you begotten!

Will I ever understand
How you could be before it all?
For I am just a mortal man,
My intellect is weak and small.

How can you ever do an act,
When there’s no time to do it in?
A deed must be begun in fact,

I will be nineteen years old tomorrow.
This past year has probably been the most intense year of my life... Me and myself at eighteen have been through a lot together - both brokenness and beauty. Such beauty...

Suddenly it becomes real:
life is finite, life is
one-third over, wrinkles
and gray hair are possible.

The magazine ad suggests things
to do while still alive, none of
which are checked off--begging
the question: what have I been doing?

Before this new decade
is over, I'll be called
Mom. I'm not ready, how
did three tens happen?