Velvet stitches on the worn folds of time,
beauteous threads that mends things fine, sublime.
Tears of yesterday can wreck the future,
the parchment, fine linen, needs time to bind.
Only fools can afford to dare be blind.

Thick with the icing of todays brightness,
time basks in golden array. Her Highness
soars, layered in a multitude of noise.
Sometimes she wears a sheath of lightening, rain;
other days she brings us comfort from pain.

Stopping the tick-tocking for a moment
to enjoy one another . . . sans torment.
In her thin hands time hold lives, destiny.
No second has a second chance to thrive;
each ray has a moment to be, survive.

The needles that repair are love and hope.
The thread is perseverance as we cope.
Still . . . there is only so much we can do.
Some of us have already borrowed once . . .
when debt’s due—it’s finally time to ‘punch’!