Time

Time itself is one more name for death.

C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

In days of youth she drug her feet

Minutes were days and days were weeks

She isn’t impatient, but she doesn’t wait

She is steady and doth not deviate

Yet with greater acquaintance she makes haste

In youthful naivete she is often wasted

To some she seems cruel

And to others a friend

She is faithful and unwavering

As she knows no end

She is always moving , never still

Some say she is illusion

She thinks she is quite real

But the geniuses and the fools

Have her quite misunderstood

She is quite rigid though she can bend

She is quite relative to some impactful friends

And though she is blamed for entropy’s reign

She objects with this complaint

She alone does not cause pain

But speed and gravity and the will of men

Cause her to change and confusion to set in

But the last word is not spoken

The Great Watchmaker in time will fix what’s broken