She passes faster than we can grasp,
We try to capture her, firm in our clasp.
But she runs right through us,
Savouring, she becomes our mistress,
She rules indiscriminately,
Sometimes, not always, distressingly.
Oh,
Mistress Time, you're full of beauty,
Admired, best in the present, free and fruity.
If we don't, we'll mourn,
And if only despaired, she will scorn.
But now, she comes alive,
Invigorated, we thrive.
Yes,
Face to face, she tells tales,
Of the dreams, places we’ll sail.
Future fantasies, we indulge,
Temptress Time, let us divulge,
Our secrets,
Worn down, we slip; more regrets.
A line inspired this poem in the series "Wheel of Time," It is surprising where promptings arise. Imagine if all our poems had a backstory shared?!
