About Me
When the road seems wide and lit with magic lamps, all bending to thy will/Flaring with the night a flame so red, so gold, the thrill; / I see my youth, my Traveler, passing swiftly by/ Bidding me to march much faster/Time is passing, Time the Master/Time that waits for no one, leads to nowhere but the footsteps on the hill –/Will you slow your pace for me, Father Time, Mother Rhyme, will you let me dream and love/And slow my pace, for your embrace; and love the one I love?