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Array
(
[sid] => 38797
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Old Man Time
[time] => 2004-03-15 19:47:07
[hometext] => What year is this really? 210,000,000,000,00 or 211,000,000,000,000. What does it matter?
[bodytext] => Whip Bird call cracks and echoes away Finches and Currawong signal start of the day Old man Roo goes bounding along. Sounds and the sights of Australia’s bush song. Time is eternal you may hold no fear That the same things have happened year after year For we are the travelers on an arc called the earth What we discover is what makes mankind’s worth. Two thousand or three what does it matter From childhood to old age words are a smatter Of colours and images for those who convey The happenings that are the talk of "one" day. But what are we really in the whole scheme of things? Measured we are by what seventy years brings Who are we to say, “I made a difference”. When compared to the universe’s ongoing distance. The bible is of all of two thousand years old The Koran and Confucius much older I’m told Dare we call this year two thousand and three? When we should count the rings of evolution’s tree. Time is a concept that as humans we can’t hold It is a vessel we dwell in, move through and behold Nothing more, nothing less it has no real worth To we living creatures on this arc we call earth. We float through the heavens born by the master Each year I hear, “My life goes faster and faster”. But if we sat and slowed down for just a little while We would remember our slow times then maybe smile as- The Whip Bird call cracks and echoes away Finches and Currawong signal start of the day Old man Roo goes bounding along, the Sounds and the sights of Australia’s bush song. [comments] => 10 [counter] => 341 [topic] => 60 [informant] => twinkletoes [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 20 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => insomniac )
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