Bill Engelhardt
In 1968-69, I had a periodic gig as a cocktail lounge DJ (Lanai Room, Roosevelt Hotel), spinning the hits by Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Jack Jones, Mel Torme....you get the idea. (Not a disco.)
One of the regulars was an insurance salesman, whose name I've long forgotten, and one night requesting a record, he handed me his business card, on the back of which was a poem that's been very much on my mind of late.
The clock of life is wound but once
And no man hath the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.
Now is the only time you own
Live, love, toil at will
Place no faith in tomorrow
For the clock may then be still.
With affection to you all, and wishes for good health and happy hearts,
Bill
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