I wonder what they mean?
Does it fly like a water droplet birthed at the precipice of the falls only to plunge faster and faster till it meets its immanent end?
Sometimes it feels like it.
Does time fly like a sparrow flitting from bush to tree,
that I can only follow and hope to see?
If that’s the case, a bird in the hand would be nice.
Does time fly like a jet through the atmosphere,
just taking it’s load from there to here?
I think I’d rather miss that flight.
Or does time fly like an eagle soaring on the breeze,
Stopping to rest in the tops of great trees?...
I’ve always wanted to fly.