Making Time

If Time had wandered weary in

And sat him down to drink,

And whispered in his weary voice

"I have no time to think",

I'd take my father's face to mine

And seek my mirror there,

Amidst the lines of passing time,

The lines of lasting care,

And wearily I'd answer him,

(For I am my father's father),

That though our hands are never still,

Our boots need churn no lather.

Planted here, where e'er they are,

Is where we find our tether,

And thinking, like the clouds above,

Is only passing weather.

Tomorrow brings no time to think,

Nor days which have now gone.

The time to think is only now,

We've always, and not long.

But always thinking takes a toll,

Weary, you must be,

So passing like the April rains,

Let's take this time to see,

That every cloud that comes then goes,

The sun shines bright then dims,

The sky alone remains the same,

To watch these passing whims.

So if you want more time to think,

You have it every instant,

Its choosing what to think about,

And what to keep more distant.

Then Time would shake his sorry head

And drain his cup of ale,

And wearily he'd wander out,

To march on with his tale.