young girl picking flowers does not count the
hours - to her the passing minutes have no
end or limit...
But in the bank and in the
church the minutes and the hours lurch and
'though he tries, the priest or clerk cannot
make time flow in reverse.
At bus-stops and
train stations throughout Time's censused
nations, young children skip and pass
between the prison bars of Time's
a young boy has no notion of life's grim
forward motion but gaily plays with golden
things within the court
of deathless Kings.
Yet Time is father to the man and holds
life's key and masterplan - or so we trust and
so we hope, else all men's lives are but a
But what grown
man cannot but dream of freedom from Time's dull
regime? and fondly he can still recall the
wooden toy and golden ball...
can such treasure buy? Let merchant risk his
soul to try -
his toil and effort will not yield a
day's release from Time's grey fields.
penniless, the children play and own the world
and all the day. The boy that climbs the
chestnut tree partakes of some great
Mystery and the young girl with her
flowers is Queen of all the passing