I’m going to begin by reprising some material already extant, a blog I did for Streetlight Magazine some time ago. It’s my base, so I want it here. Robert Herrick’s poem, To the Virgins to Make Most of Time, begins GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. And just in case you don’t get that, he adds: The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he’s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he’s to setting. And there’s more: That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Depressed yet? Here’s the punchline: Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime You may forever tarry. A poem specific to its time, of course — and the customs of that time — but much quoted still, in this so different time. Probably tarrying is not the worst fear one has these days, male or female. The question is: are there any rosebuds left? My modest goal — befitting age perhaps– is to take a look.