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