Are we to understand your whirligig?
Are we to be keepers of our own time?
Or are we only here to dance and jig
to the painful beat of your tick-tock rhyme.
Your faces always stare, and we stare back awed
and you would grab us in your hands to squeeze
out our life in manners that are so odd,
you promise plenty, our affections you tease,
you bend us down, our lives you sip as tea.
But! Be careful for the day we let you go
throwing off your iron grip. When we see
your own mortality begin to show.
Yes you are
here, and the time you do keep,
but when
time does end, for you we will not weep.
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