The Hour Glass

Tick, tick, the grains of sand

The grains in the hour glass

A minute, a second, there is no stop

And with each drop, there’s something new

A broken quill, no use to write

Grains before was a feather in flight

The baker’s daughter barely fourteen

Now mother to three children

Was it not that the butterfly there

Was a glutton of leaves a time before?

And did not spring end and return

Making the trees wilt and revive?

Cheeks so red, be now cheeks pale

Soft warm bread, now so stale

Weave from yarn and grains after,

Now a tapestry for display

No man powers time

For no man can hold sand firmly

One may blink, but still a grain there

One may stop, but another grain falls

What of time that it dares go against us?

But what of time that it benefits our plans?

No flower will not wilt, no day eternal

‘Tis only God who holds the hour glass.

By: Mari Begonia A. Cinco, Filed under Literary