The Gift

Known globally from east to west,

Expressed by hands which never rest.

Can be lost, as some abhor,

But of it, there is always more.

Sometimes set aside with care,

Sometimes free and sometimes rare.

When nothing will an answer bring,

Only this will tell a thing.

It may be short. It may be long.

It may have come. It may have gone.

But moving forward it always goes.

It never stops; it never grows.

Always changing, yet still the same,

Never at fault but oft given the blame.

Of it, there is not an end,

But parts of it won’t come again.

Ordained by God, given to man

To use with wisdom while we can.

This privilege we must never lose,

Forget or waste, or yes, abuse.

What is this blessing so sublime,

But the precious, treasured gift of time.