The question that is asked the most; we hear it everyday,
"What time Is it?" they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed, it's time for work, or time to feed the fishes,
It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.
Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
depending on the zone, or whether daylights savings there.
Time is measured many ways from minutes to months,
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!
A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
Clocks and calenders alike, all scheduled by the sun.
Intervals that can't be hurried, will not be denied,
a season that we know that's coming, as surely as the tide.
If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
I think 'so many freckles past a hair' means a very short space/distance/time. Perhaps Erin Friedrichs could expand on this?
Time
Published by Family Friend Poems March 2010 with permission of the Author.
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I think 'so many freckles past a hair' means a very short space/distance/time. Perhaps Erin Friedrichs could expand on this?