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Archive for the ‘time’ Category

Could one count the grains of sand,

One could hold in one’s hand,

Moist, mingled, multitudes of quartz;

Could one imagine the huge number,

Counting slumber to slumber,

That line just a few little ports;

Could one pretend to know,

Counting row after even row,

The final tally would be so very grand,

The mind would definitely bend,

Before one came near the end,

Of counting the moist, multitudes of sand.

– eab,  Apr. ‘78

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Fearfully, wonderfully made is true,

For the lad a-fork a burro’s back,

Who slept last night on a coffee sack,

In some poor, distant, Andes, ranch shack

It’s true for the bluest blood of you,

Aboard a yacht, who passively dine

On caviar, lobster, and old wine,

Always thinking of “me” “my” and “mine.”

Social animals of highest crust,

And dregs of men, smeared with labor’s dust,

Are all alike, all made in fearful ways,

Which ought (everyday) us to amaze.

– eab, 4/9/08

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Know the difference between a million & a billion? Really do you?

“It takes about 11.5 DAYS for a millions seconds to tick away,

but almost 32 YEARS for a billion seconds.”

– John Allen Paulds

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I don’t need to live tomorrow

It has yet to fully arrive.

I don’t need to live yesterday

It’s confined to history’s tall hive.

It’s mine to live, by grace, Today.

Live and be lovingly alive.

– eab,  3/19/11

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If you have a gripe with winter’s grip,

Wish to have less snow and frosty dip,

Wish winter to end, end with in a hurry,

Want to have seen the last snow flurry,

Be encouraged.  Winter’s begun to slip.

– eab,  3/5/08

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Your Body?  Its days are numbered.  Everybody, who is anybody, knows that. 

Your Soul?  

It has already begun its eternity.  NOW.

– eab,  7/3/14

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It can be measured (often is),

Though it’s never been seen.

It has no color of its own,

Not blue, nor white, nor green.

 

It can’t be successfully weighed,

On balance or on a scale,

Yet it’s always up for “grabs,”

Daily this object’s for sale.

 

It has no height from which to fall,

Cannot be rolled into a ball,

Is “long” or “short” by attitude,

Is loathed or loved with gratitude.

 

What’s this thing o’er land and sea,

Ruling the dry and maritime?

Give up?  Don’t know it by now?

It’s that commodity man calls TIME.

– eab,  Feb. ‘05

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