A Shakespearean Rebuttal

In time, we learn that nothing conquers time.

We alter as we must. When seasons pass

Then from the present, hist’ry’s pantomime

Seems hardly as an image in a glass.

We curse the years that steal proud youth’s array

And make us bow before their cruelty—

But who can recognize their own decay

When aging moves at speeds we cannot see?

Who will halt the flow? Who stem the tide?

And yet we would not do it if we could;

We must admit that it is only pride

That tells time’s evil and ignores its good:

Though time may leave us many a tender scar

In time it shapes us into who we are.