Time is of the essence
not even the hands of fate
could manipulate
all are cast in her glow
all are mortal still before her

oh
how I wonder
with all the spite about her
do they even know who holds the key?
for they change when she passes
and lose her all too often
she stands until forgotten
yet in anticipation
while her tears flow like sand

but still her heart ticks on
unabashed of its own existence
its purpose and will are reason enough
to beat for war or melody
to satisfy its owner's deepest desire
to remain to cherish all that is

for she would not touch
nor acknowledge
nor have capacity to love
nor reasoning for the existence
of that which was not for her

and so I say to you
remember
when you loss track of Time
when you take her for granted
when you waste her for naught
that Time too has a beating heart