Time........ and Roger

Pat's high school math teacher said that time itself was changing. Not just an individual's perception of time. I sometimes wonder if Mr. Howard was right. Yes, I know there are all kinds of ways of measuring it accurately. But suppose those methods and techniques themselves were adjusting to some cosmic force. Eluding the best that science has to offer. And how to put the measure to fleeting moments, aeons, eras, or perpetual?

Roger understood those things better than most. When he was on the brink of leaving, we had an exciting conversation over the miles about eternity. I say exciting because we confirmed our presence in what some may consider a void. Or others may have it populated with harps and angels and many mansions. Still others expect a future on the wrong side of the River Styx.

One of his favourite poems was Ralph Hodgson's Time, You Old Gypsy Man. Since Roger told me about it years ago, it has also become special to me. When I leave I too will join Roger and the old fellow and become time itself. Yes, Mr. Howard is right.

TIME, you old gipsy man,

Will you not stay,

Put up your caravan

Just for one day?

All things I'll give you

Will you be my guest,

Bells for your jennet

Of silver the best,

Goldsmiths shall beat you

A great golden ring,

Peacocks shall bow to you,

Little boys sing.

Oh, and sweet girls will

Festoon you with may,

Time, you old gipsy,

Why hasten away?

Last week in Babylon,

Last night in Rome,

Morning, and in the crush

Under Paul's dome;

Under Pauls' dial

You tighten your rein --

Only a moment,

And off once again;

Off to some city

Now blind in the womb,

Off to another

Ere that's in the tomb.

Time, you old gipsy man,

Will you not stay,

Put up your caravan

Just for one day?