Departure

Father-time...started out today,
He did not turn to look.
Nor did he see his handiwork,
His trembling hands...just shook.

The chill wind beat upon his breast,
He had out-lived his "rep".
His grizzled head hung very low,
And tottering was his step.

Upon the distant highway,
He was taken for a bum.
And as the heavy traffic moved,
He stood with lifted thumb.

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Over the hill the old year goes,
I wave my handkerchief.
Before me on the "Book of Life",
I see a brand new-leaf.

Over the hill the old-year goes,
In panic...I jump my groove.
And I vow to myself a thousand times,
This YEAR...I'm gonna improve.

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O...what has happened to last year,
That made him quickly disappear?
It started off...serene and slow,
O...where did it so quickly go?


E.P. 1908 - 1989


Present State of the World
1838