Time: The Eternal Thief of Life

The eighty year-old man sat sunken in his soft chair, his shoulders stooped with the weight of the years now behind him. He rocked gently. His face wrinkled and weather-beaten. His dashing blue eyes now a pale grey. His knees ached and his back felt as if a hundred small knives were piercing it.

His mind, still alert and honed, was that of a teenager. All he had left were his dreams and memories. He reflected back to his school years and a poem by Eugene Field that stuck with him. It was titled Little Boy Blue and went like this:

"The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now don't you go til I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue, -
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed and put them there. "

A tear trickled down his wizened cheek as he remembered . . .

Gary