Blowing the seeds
to the wind
scattering time
the seeds of time
The hands of the
grandmother clock chime
just like the watch of mine
draped around my wrist
The seeds kissed
my face not the clocks
as the pendulum rocks
to and fro
been nowhere but has
somwhere to go.
Not too fast but nice and slow.
The seeds blow
over and under
through hail and thunder
rain and shine
Time is all mine
I have it in the palm of my hand
Like little streams of falling sand
which measures time.