Time is a Gift

Time is a gift, which cannot be re-gifted,

A gift that is given whether deserved or not,

A toy, if you will, to be played with or ignored,

A thing to be used to its fullest or wasted at will.

In our youths, boredom ate away the hours,

We, in our innocence didn’t see its value,

But once we used more of it up, finally getting wiser,

We complained that there is never enough.

For it is time which allowed the creation of memories,

And time which holds all of our memories dear.

Each lifetime lived and dream fulfilled,

Owes a great deal to the passage of time.

Just as the apple trees go from flower to fruit,

Through the seasons of each and every year,

Time allows the fruits of our labors to ripen,

And lends itself to the healing of souls,

And to rectifying and righting ones’ wrongs.

And time allows for each to find wisdom,

Somewhere among our fumbling footsteps,

And time allows the circle of life to continue,

In life of a child whose eyes are like ours.