Time passes by, waiting for no one.

Hurrying along at a steady pace.

Moving faster, much faster,

In good times;

Crawling, coming to a stand still,

In bad.

Time marches on,

To a rhythm we neither hear, nor see.

Perceived only in the succession

Of day and night;

Summer and winter;

Spring and autunm.

Time moves along,

In its wake we are left with memories.

Benchmarking each as we go along with,

Birthdays and anniversaries.

Each benchmark reached,

Gets us closer, yet, to another chapter,

Wishing we knew more about.

With anticipation,

Giving us joy,

We count, hurriedly at first,

Then, slowing down,

Wishing we could hold it still.

We celebrate and we hold dear,

Each anniversary, each birthday, each year.

Remembering and reminding ourselves,

Of events big and small.

Of the first encounter.

The first whisper.

The first kiss.

The first love.

The first anniversary.

The first birth.

The first word.

The first step.

The first of many things we hold dear.

Time passes by.

Each celebration hurries it along.

Each occasion is a reminder.

Each event foretelling of the ones to come.

Time is an enemy.

Robbing us of youth, vigor, body. and mind.

Beckoning, even faster each day, for events to come along.

Forcefully  pushing us forward to an end we do not know.

Time is our friend.

Bringing us closer with each successive celebration.

Giving us reason to love again, to live again.

In the warmth of a reassuring companion on our side,

Sharing, again, things new and old.

As we watch with awe,

This fast moving river, called, time.