Time passes like the winter wind.
It is felt for the moment - intensely
And like the wind, fades away into the darkness of the past.

IT CAN NEVER BE RECAPTURED, NEVER RETURNED.
It is a single coming and going -

Every moment comes but once, lingers a while, and is gone.
More precious than gold, more common than stones,
It is an element one never has enough of.

It produces a thirst for MORE, and like a drug, it takes effect and arouses a craving for it,
Only when one finds that he is losing it, FOREVER.

--- Written in 1953 by Benedicto S. David
(Filipino student at Marquette Univ., Milwaukee, Wisconsin)
--- Submitted by Julie Feliciano --- Phillipines
My brother wrote this poem when he underwent an operation on his leg, all by himself in a foreign land, at age 20. He became a foreign correspondent, and died in 1988. Before his death, he was looking for a copy of this poem that he had packed among his things long ago, and we miraculously found it, and displayed it on his casket before he was interred.