HOME | DD

Description
The Times were oft, the Times were few
The Times were old, the Times were new
The Times were red and cyan blue
Those many Times I thought of you

The Times were slow, the Times were quick
The Times would treat, the Times would trick
The Times would slip and slide so slick
The final Time I lit the wick

The Times were played, the Times were sung
The Times were shot, the Times were hung
The Times flew fast as fast we swung
Each Time I tasted tart, your tongue

The Times were bad, the Times were good
The Times now lay where once they stood
Where seated still on rotted wood
The Times show me I should, I could

Move with the Times and be as one
Rise with the moon, sink with the sun
To walk or skip, but cease to run
“The Times will fly when they are fun!”

But, Times be damned, it’s here I sit
Here I stay and pitch my fit
Then rest and write my wordy writ
To the Times, on whom I spit

The Times were grand, those Times are gone
The house is cold, the curtains drawn
With grass that grows up six feet long
In the plain that was our front lawn

The Times have plagued this elder bird
Her Times are up, her mind’s absurd
Now Time is nothing but a word
And a badgering old God’s shepherd

Time will sneer and Time will laugh
Time will leer and call me daft
Down the street from Ocean Ave
Because now Time is all I have

Description
The Times were oft, the Times were few
The Times were old, the Times were new
The Times were red and cyan blue
Those many Times I thought of you

The Times were slow, the Times were quick
The Times would treat, the Times would trick
The Times would slip and slide so slick
The final Time I lit the wick

The Times were played, the Times were sung
The Times were shot, the Times were hung
The Times flew fast as fast we swung
Each Time I tasted tart, your tongue

The Times were bad, the Times were good
The Times now lay where once they stood
Where seated still on rotted wood
The Times show me I should, I could

Move with the Times and be as one
Rise with the moon, sink with the sun
To walk or skip, but cease to run
“The Times will fly when they are fun!”

But, Times be damned, it’s here I sit
Here I stay and pitch my fit
Then rest and write my wordy writ
To the Times, on whom I spit

The Times were grand, those Times are gone
The house is cold, the curtains drawn
With grass that grows up six feet long
In the plain that was our front lawn

The Times have plagued this elder bird
Her Times are up, her mind’s absurd
Now Time is nothing but a word
And a badgering old God’s shepherd

Time will sneer and Time will laugh
Time will leer and call me daft
Down the street from Ocean Ave
Because now Time is all I have