Some days I lay back and think of the days of the past,
Time seems to be going by so quickly now, time is fast.
It is not constant but pulsating and flies by the hour,
Time is everything and it contains the power.
The power to enjoin every moment and smell the roses,
Time fixed in photographs with gestures and poses.
Time of people some gone and some entering different stages of life,
High times of excitement and low times of anxiety and strife.
Do I remember the days before marriage?
The days before the horse and carriage.
The days when I dreamed what would I be when I grew up,
It seems so long ago, and in a flash to the present so abrupt.
Life is a dream, so it says from Row, row, row your boat,
But life is not gentle, you bob, and only occasionally do you float.
You hit obstacles and bounce back and forth from one side to the other,
You hit the sides of the stream and are bruised and sometimes land in the gutter.
And at the end you balance your legacy in the life book,
Where occasionally your prodigies will take a nostalgic look.
Buried with indiscretions now meaningless and forgotten,
Hopefully you will be remembered nicely and not as rotten.