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Time

Andrew Marvell, in his poem To His Coy Mistress, wrote these enduring lines:

But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;

I think it’s a well written poem. As I recall, it was one of the first we studied in our English Literature A Level and it has left it’s mark on me. However, I’ve got some disagreements with it. If written in modern parlance, the overall message would be something like “we’re going to die too soon so, baby, let me get in your trousers”, which isn’t quite the morality I subscribe to. Also, although I’m aware of the press of time, it’s not so much hurrying near as pulling a handbreak turn and driving at breakneck speed in the other direction!

I’m prompted in my musings by some reflections from the Shiny Headed Prophet:

Time is always there and so I forget it’s value. Money runs out at the end of the month, Food goes off if left too long and cd’s get broken. Time, though, always seems to be there and ticks along un-noticed, making no demands and drawing no attention.

Time is, of course, a whole different dimension to material things. I can’t hold it, store it or stockpile it. However, I can at least choose not to waste it!

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