When I was young and in my prime;
I thought that I had plenty time.
Each day I let pass casually;
It didn't mean a thing to me.

I danced and held each moment dear;
To stretch the time that I most feared.
And so I closed my eyes to dream;
And didn't miss the years it seems.

But one day I became aware;
The autumn of my years was here.
What footprints had I left behind;
To give accounting of my time.

I write. I paint. And you can bet;
I really haven't finished yet.