Time

What is time?

Is it the pace of this rhyme?

Frozen ice? Or numbers on a dice?

Maybe the seconds ticking on a clock?

Or the skips of a rock?

Time is all around us.

Yet never quite in reach.

So much and so little.

And very, very brittle.

Soft as a peach,

Deadly as a leach.

To each his own,

Oh, how time has flown.

The winds of time

Have strongly blown.

Always there as we have grown.

It goes on,

While we lie still,

Forever carrying on our will.