He's been round the track a time or two.
Maybe he saw his dreams come true,
Standing drenched in French champagne
As he was cheered time and again.
Maybe he beat the other chaps
Doing quite astounding laps.
Maybe he crashed-out once or twice,
He didn't care; he'd pay the price.
Maybe the girls all swooned about him,
Saying they couldn't live without him.
Maybe his manly charms were such
That he was a joy to kiss and touch!
Maybe he actually beat his breast
Declaring to all he was the best.
Those days have gone but look at that face!
He's still a winner in life's race.
The Beatles coined a little phrase
To show the passing of the days;
They wrote the words at, maybe, twenty,
When their future days were plenty.
"Each day just goes so fast....
I turn around, it's past."
And isn't it a great disaster
That old age makes it go much faster!
Xmas now with Easter merges,
Waves of Time roll with great surges!
Birthdays pile up ceaselessly!
Branches grow on the Family Tree.
Surely the Beatles were quite young
When this original song was sung!
Surely they couldn't imagine, clearly,
That time would gallop so, and yearly!
It was just a useful phrase
To register the passing days.
Now they're all old , it seems to me,
They sing it in a minor key!
They realise that finite Time
Can't be contained in a simple rhyme!
'Stop! Stop!' we cry, 'Slow down! Slow down!
In minutes, hours and days we'll drown!'
Inexorable! That's the word
That makes we humans feel absurd.
Helplessly we're swept along
To where all used-up things belong.
The terrible, terrible speed increases
Until it ceases.
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