There is always the moment, dear Time
in which I find that our mutual bond,
is caught between disrepair and the mime
of enjoyment, that we show each other how fond
we are of each other; the lie as we hold hands
and race against the tide you put before us
as they wear down the cliffs of the mind and lands,
crumbling, the path disappears without much fuss,
least of all from me, for I have no hold on Time
I have no control over its actions or accomplishments
I have no reason, nor meaning why in its prime
it continues to act like a child without common sense,
poking fun, fighting and offering hubris to the soul
our mutual friendship, dear Time, is one of waste,
yours and mine, but I need the gravity of your laughter droll
for it keeps me strong, ready and chaste.
Ian D. Hall 2017