There is no trick to growing old. Time washes away youth in increments so small one does not notice their passing. It is only when one looks in the mirror and age cannot be ignored that the brevity of human life is acknowledged. Fleeting Hands is in tetrameter (I never before noticed how much I use it), but it bounces around from iamb to trochee (I keep tripping over my feet)—probably not a good thing.
FLEETING HANDS OF TIME
By Mike Patrick
Slow down, oh fleeting hands of time.
I have not yet enjoyed this day.
Why must you rush this life of mine?
Why must you push this way?
Can you not stretch a little more?
I need time for thought and laughter.
Please do not slam youth’s sweet door.
More time, one day, is all I’m after.
Though time slips by, it will not end.
In my mind, it will return,
And for a while, my time will bend.
Again I’ll have youth’s time to burn.