Waiting For Time

Time is a funny thing,

as long as the wind sings,

it’ll quicken, shortening the song.

When the wind silences, it’ll slow-

and the silence is stretched out far too long-

but Time doesn’t mind, as it dances,

to its own uneven rhythm.

Dancing with anything and everything-

Time chooses the tempo, as it ticks by.

In the winter, you can hear it sigh-

as it tangles itself up with the trees,

the elaborate dance showing no sign of stopping.

In the summer, you can hear it fly,

as it dances with the bright, warm sun.

It’s speed not far from a run.

In the fall, you can hear it lie-

as it quickly sweeps up the autumn leaves,

with little to no care in the world.

In the spring, you can hear it cry,

as the rain ignores the Time’s pace,

pelting the land to its own rhythm.

Time is a funny thing,

as it waits for no one and nothing,

though, everything waits for it.