The Fabric of Time

If time were measured

Merely by the ticking of a clock

Or by the sing-song chime of bells

On Sunday mornings,

Then would the hours be alive?

And would each moment

Breathe in the gentle cool of morning,

The sluggish bustle of noon,

Or the sweetest grey of twilight?

Is time counted in the heavens?

Does the moon remember

When last he set his watch

Or the sun decide to sleep

Later than she should?

Do the stars plead with their Creator

For one night’s release from shining?

No.

We are all bound

By the fabric of time.

Thankfully a skillful weaver

Places each thread in order

And holds us together

With the expertise of his trade

And with love.