Minutes

We are but minutes - little things,
Each one furnished with sixty wings,
With which we fly on our unseen track,
And not a minute ever comes back.

We are but minutes - yet each one bears
A little burden of joys and cares,
Patiently take the minutes of pain -
The worst of minutes cannot remain.

We are but minutes - when we bring
A few of the drops from pleasure's spring,
Taste their sweetness while we stay -
It takes but a minute to fly away.

We are but minutes - use us well
For how we are used we must one day tell:
Who uses minutes has hours to use -
Who loses minutes whole years must lose.