A fly doth fly with melancholy drone,
A bluebird with his flight doth sweetly sing.
But none doth fly when life’s fair flight is flown,
And none doth live when time is on the wing.
They say that haggard time waits not for man,
Nor lets a woman live her lifelong dreams.
He marches on, with no more substance than
A shadow, but is worth more than he seems.
For time is not a treasure to be traded,
Nor wasted on some fleeting earthly whim.
For he still marches on when man has faded,
And when the light of life has long grown dim.
So be not still while time moves swiftly on.
Fly while you can, before your wings are gone.
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