Time's Relentless March

Oh cruel fate, why dost thou mock me so?

For though my heart doth yearn to be with those

Whose presence doth my soul with joy bestow,

The weight of work doth hold me in its throes.

My child's wife's parents, whom I hold dear,

Do wait upon me with bated breath and hope,

But duty's call doth drown their voices clear,

And on this occasion, once again, I mope.

The clock ticks on, relentless in its march,

And with each passing moment, my heart doth ache,

For though my mind be filled with work's harsh starch,

My soul doth long for love's sweet embrace.

My child doth look at me with pleading eyes,

And though I try to mask my deep regret,

I know my absence doth cut him like a knife,

And in my heart, a wound doth still beget.

Oh, how I wish that I could turn back time,

And be there when my loved ones need me most,

But alas, the demands of work are prime,

And all my efforts to be with them are lost.

So let this be a warning to all who hear,

That though we strive to be the best we can,

Sometimes, in life, duty must take its sphere,

And we must bear the burden of our plan.

For time waits for no man, nor does it care,

And though we long for moments to be shared,

Sometimes we must resign ourselves to bear,

The heavy weight of duty, though it be unfair.