What is time? It’s today, yesterday and tomorrow;
It’s something that will be, that is, that was.
Time is like feathers and sometimes like chains…
We don’t have it when we need it most.
For children it’s like a pile to the sun,
But age cracks with every hour;
No man can buy it, stretch or bend it,
No one can change the course of time.
It walks slowly with every second,
Which make minutes and then hours,
The hours grow to days, weeks become months,
And someday you’ll have seen many years.
Time is like a beck that never rests…
It’s going on – and waiting at the end is death.
Astonished you wonder: “What happend to the time?
This can’t be the end, it had just begun.”