Father Time

I saw the old thief, Father Time,

Come hirpling down the road;

He had a sack upon his back, lost minutes were his load.

He opened it and showed to me,

not minutes, but a host;

of years, decades,

a century or more of minutes lost.

“I want to buy a year,” I said

“And I shall pay you well.”

“If this earth’s mold were finest gold,

To you I would not sell,

For I have minutes stolen from Kings,

From Milton, Shakespeare, Bach,

How could you buy such precious things,

Your common gold is trash.”

He tied his sack and said, “Farewell,

Young man, I’ve got my fee”

For while I tried to make him sell,

He stole an hour from me!

by Harvey Scott .