Father Time – Trifecta
Lines of turmoil etch his face
His hands are bound by pain.
Regret of trying to win the race
It’s too late to start again.
His job had caused his knee to bow
There’d been no time to play
His children were successful now
They work 12 hours a day.
All alone, he wastes his tears
The years have felt so long
Spirit fading, he thinks he hears
Whispers of that idle song:
“Ring around the rosies, pocket full of posies,
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”