Time is a Crooked Thing
By: the iHope Poet
is crooked in its place.
I check it several times a day,
and try to match its passive face.
Life never fails -- the sun comes up
and sets again each night,
even though my pocket watch
cannot predict the times quite right.
And every day I see you there,
I try to look away.
The struggle with the hour hand
all started when you came to say,
My Darling, you will find at times
that time itself will flee.
And fragile moments come and go
without the use of clocks and things.
When counting on my pocket watch
to tell when love will pass,
I hope you know I've learned quite well,
the crooked hand will never last.
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