Not a lie it is when they say time and tide waits for no man; not a lie it is when they say time cures more than the doctor. Not a lie it is when they say time is money; not a lie it is when they say time is the best counselor. Not a lie it is when they say time is winged and it flies. Another truth about time is that it loves not permanence in beauty; the true enemy of all romantics is time.
Whom the gods love dies young; the beauty time would cherish is a beauty that would soon perish. It is not a foul-say that youths and age will never agree, just like beauty and time will always disagree. When wits meet, sparks spark out. When beauty and time meet, wrinkles spry out. Time fades beauties away, just like the sun fades the day.
The round and full breasts would soon wither and fall into light feathers; the smooth and shiny skin would soon be unromantic to your romantic kin. And those appealing lips when they are caught by time, your grandchildren will laugh at your lips while you dine. No empire lasts forever, no beauty can withstand time, never. And when your qualities start to fade away, no one will wait even if you wish to pay for a lay. You may be Juliet or Cinderella; soon you will have the reason to hide your face in an umbrella. I don’t say old people are not handsome or beautiful, for marriage, isn’t a ninety-year-old wonderful? The high-heeled shoes become difficult to wear; the thick meat becomes difficult to tear. Your only refuge would be love, if the mathematics, a partner is around to solve.
I hate to grow old, yet I don’t wanna die young. If I spice all my foods with thyme, yet, I sense, I cannot escape the wrath of time. And at last when the veins refuse to transport, it is time to leave, no more need for an escort. When the memory refuses to reverse, the mouth will not be able to cite a verse. And when we are laid in the dust, the worms shall cover all our beauties and features that were once robust.
“Don’t look down on me oh you fair city girls. I was the most beautiful when at your age if not for the sun of time that has burnt my skin. What are left of me are the wrinkles and memories. Oh time, what have you done to me?”