By Tom Shepherd.
Time makes account of all of us, but does not care to tally
There is no pause for games of man, nor by its nature dally.
It does not love, nor care, nor hate, nor listen to our noise
No ears to hear our cries or tears, no greed to bribe with toys.
With measured tread we live our lives by second, minute, hour
Each sweeping hand a gentle cut, a unique mortal scour.
We cry for more, there’s none to have, but time’s song does not end
Each moment filled with hope, with fear, with enemy, with friend.
What little we can see is shown through unclear, blinkered view
The past is clouded with the murky haar of false or true.
Of things to come no certainty save optimistic cries
Yet time accounts for you and I and ever, ever flies.
Live for each day or plan for futures yet to come about
Be happy as the day is long or paralysed with doubt.
Each moment lived is ever in the here, the now, the new
So to each other now’s the time to say that I love you.
© Tom Shepherd, 23 Oct 2013
Image Credits
Sun Halo ( thumbnail ) © Duncan Harley
Sun through Trees © Freefoto.com