Nothing But The Time

Thy young mans spirit

Broken only by his will

Can he beat the bottle?

While his mind stays still

And timidly he watches

As I walk past his yard

A humble voice is muttered

Having not let down his guard

With a pen in his right hand

And a book on his lap

He writes of his youth

And how he yearns to go back

With a poor man you’d expect

For him to ask you for a dime

Yet this man needed nothing

Yes, nothing but the time