Ready or not.
It arrives.
It departs.
Without regard.

By second or minute.
By hour or by day.
Counted any way,
it passes always.

It seems to fly,
to crawl, or stand still.
Yet each moment comes
and it goes just the same.

It cannot be stored.
Nor can it be bought.
We pass through it once.
Wisely savor your only shot.