Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Time Flys Like The Wind

"Time Flys Like The Wind, but Fruit Flies Like Bananas".

Don't ask me why, but that saying has followed me around since my early days of attempting humour and it is most likely from a Tommy Cooper or Spike Millegan sketch. Its great to be able to keep things in perspective and humour has a way of levelling all knowledge to the lowest common denominator.
Time on the other hand, is a very serious thing and once lost can never be regained.

The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. Michael Altshuler

Ordinary people think merely of spending time. Great people think of using it. Anon

I found this poem in my teaching notes and although I have little information on the writer, it is one of those pieces that serves to grab your heart. Especially if you too have raised children and lived to look back over those formative years of parenting. Most grand parents, seem to do a great job of parenting their grand children and I am sure its because time has a way of being better prioritised and valued as we age.

No Time to Play
My precious boy with the golden hair
Came up one day beside my chair
And fell upon his bended knee
And said, “Oh, Mommy, please play with me!”

I said, “Not now, go on and play;
I’ve got so much to do today.”
He smiled through tears in eyes so blue
When I said, “We’ll play when I get through.”

But the chores lasted all through the day
And I never did find time to play.
When supper was over and dishes done,
I was much too tired for my little son.

I tucked him in and kissed his cheek
And watched my angel fall asleep.
As I tossed and turned upon my bed,
Those words kept ringing in my head,

“Not now, son, go on and play,
I’ve got so much to do today.”
I fell asleep and in a minute’s span,
My little boy is a full-grown man.

No toys are there to clutter the floor;
No dirty fingerprints on the door;
No snacks to fix; no tears to dry;
The rooms just echo my lonely sigh.

And now I’ve got the time to play;
But my precious boy is gone away.
I awoke myself with a pitiful scream
And realized it was just a dream

For across the room in his little bed,
Lay my curly-haired boy, the sleepy-head.
My work will wait ‘til another day
For now I must find some time to play.
Dianna (Mrs. Joe) Neal.