We talk of time like Earth is a desert

with nothing to harvest nor gain

When in reality,

it coats the oceans

and is trapped between every rock



Strangely, we talk of such deprivation

at times when it's grown luxuriant

For there's not much

to do with too much

except ponder how we've so few



Oh what of Humanity

is to come when all is done

and the desert

is teeming

with flora as far as I see?



We talk of time

like we have no time at times when we've nothing but.