DON’T THE HOURS GROW SHORTER AS THE DAYS GO BY

There it goes, winging by, that crazy thief Time. He steals days from my pocket, flits by unseen, and suddenly I look up and realize I’ve been robbed again. I think he swings from the trees like a monkey, arm over arm, howling with a boom that startles me awake. He sifts through the moments that flutter past, snatching them from the air while I stroll on, unalarmed and oblivious, thinking that there’s more where that came from. I’m wrong, though. There isn’t more where that came from. This is the time to treasure. This time, this present, this now....