Greacen002

"Well, Just a Quick One"

The golden liquid in the glass
Is drained in joyous little sips;
The minute hands lope on.
Thus Time, the enemy, must pass.

Ignoring all attempts and all defences
To stay each sixty seconds' worth
Of Kiplingesque. 0 what's the use
Of all our vain pretences

Of medium, slow or quick ones?
Old Father Time will have no stop.
However much we try to hold him
He simply ups and runs!