I saw the old thief, Father Time, Come hirpling down the road; He had a sack upon his back, Lost minutes were his load. He opened it and showed to me Not minutes, but a host Of years, decades, a century And more of minutes lost. "I want to buy year," I said, "And I shall pay you well." "If this earth's mould were finest gold, To you I would not sell, For I have minutes stolen from kings, From Milton, Shakespeare, Bach. How could you buy such precious things? Your common gold is trash!"… He tied his sack and said, "Farewell. Young man, I've got my fee," For, while I tried to make him sell, He stole an hour from me! -- Harvey Scott
How many moments will old Father Time
try to steal from you and me in 2021?