Grip of Time

Hands of a clock
Visit our door – knock

Analog, digital, sun-dial
Asking if they could stay a while

They make refuge on our wrists
In our waking thoughts they persist
To consume our daily routine
Faster than feet for “Come On Eileen”

Time is all there is, yet it’s fleeting
With each Tick and Tock forever repeating
Time is all around – in every shade
And beam of light – for every man and maid
Time is inescapable and all-consuming
Whether the sun sets or is looming

Increments of counting, mounting high
Accounting for our drowning in worries so wry
There are only two choices
Each with inclining voices
First, with its minute hand tracking business
Speaks of passing with years but a grimace
Second, talks of no hiatus from worry
But its hour hand in more of a hurry

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