Burglar Time By Amos Russel Wells

Time’s a burglar. On his toes
Noiselessly the rascal goes;
Steals my hair, and in its place
Drops long wrinkles on my face;
Steals my vigor, and instead
With experience crams my head;
Steals the trustfulness of youth,
Changing it for bitter truth;

Steals my friends by slow degrees,
Leaving only memories;
Steals my hope, my daring bold,
Leaving nought but yellow gold,
Making these exchanges, he
Deems it is no robbery;
Yes, and truly; for his stealth
Of my dear departed wealth
Yet has left the Joy of Life,
You, my daughter and my wife!