Give it time
and it will get here.
One minute born,
another minute gone.
Hopefully those two minutes are far between.
A life lived is a life indeed.
As you get older
you start to think upon
what you could have done,
perhaps we should be thinking
about what we can still do
in the time left to us.
The sand in my hand
runs out like the days in my life;
and every handful
seems to flow faster
than my ability to count them.
.
Every day,
when seen under a microscope,
is like the snowflakes,
differing and soon gone.
So, it’s now that time of day
the morning it has gone
and what we did or didn’t do
Is over – we move on.
After Noon is here,
we still have things to do;
just need to get things started –
or perhaps another brew?
Is it Saturday already?
Wow!
How
did that that happen?
One minute it was Friday,
the next, Saturday!
.
I suppose that’s how time works,
even though it is a created device,
and twenty-four time zones
(If not more, or less)
go through the process
of ‘Clocking Over’
as I like to call it.
.
What ever will they think of next?
.
And who are
they?
I was wondering lonely
as a cloud approached me
and asked me the rhyme.
“It’s about four.” I answered.
The cloud departed happily,
having ascertained the time.
.
.
.
NB ‘Wonky Words’ my latest (and best) Collection of my words is available from this link. G:)
It’s been a month now,
and I never saw the change;
but, when years have passed,
and as I near my last,
looking back just seems so strange.
Still fifteen in my head,
but my body disagrees,
time has not been kind,
I still have mind,
but there are tremors in my knees.
.
Older every day,
more late November
than early May,
and the years speed up
as I slow down,
there is a ticking clock
whose alarm is set,
and, yet, I try not to frown…
swimming with too many negative emotions,
you are more likely to drown.
My grandfather’s clock
is two inches too tall
to fit in my house
up against the wall.
.
I raised the ceiling
and lowered the floor,
took the hinges off
the dining-room door;
.
puffed and panted
to get it in
and then decided,
it made such a din
.
that I never wound the key,
so there it stands now stranded
at a quarter to three.
SD They meet
“Well, it’s about time.”
“What is?”
“This book on the subject of ‘Time’. “
“Oh!” Is it any good?”
“I got it second-hand.”
“And…?”
“I swapped it for my watch.”
“And…?”
“It helps to pass the…”
“Time?”
“Yes. And, it’s also about time-travel.”
“Sounds interesting – can I borrow it after you’ve read it?”
“Yes. I’ll pop it round to you last Thursday.”
“Okay. Can you write next week’s lottery numbers inside the back cover for me?”
“All of them?”
“Probably. 1 through to 47 should about cover it.”
“Will do.”
“Great! Thanks!”
“You’re welcome.”
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
“Until last Thursday!”
“Yup! See you then!”
SD They part.
“Is it Sunday? Yes?
How? Where has the weekend gone?
Is it Monday, yet?”
When the days do that,
all is just as it should be,
and time is at peace.
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Graeme Sandford 