Each week goes a little faster
Than the last one seemed to go:
Months elude our grasping fingers
On their was to “long ago”.
And the years, as we grow older,
Seem to hurry more and more;
Before one year has more than started
There’s a new one at the door.
So no wonder when we’re older,
Try to keep up though we will,
Life does reach us, catch us, pass us,
And leave us back there standing still.
by Ray Romine Thursday, November 12, 1936
