Now that the weeks and days and months fly by,

Propelling us still faster to our end,

The needed action is to hold up time,

To slacken off, or better still, suspend

Its uncouth march into the wild beyond

And celebrate its capture as its bond.

 

But if time should comply, what must we do?

Display ourselves and prance around a pole,

Or willingly obey a quiet void?

Time, stopped or slowed, will always reach its goal;

Though it was briefly frozen by a ruse

The perpetrators are the ones who lose.

 

For time, with its sharp edges, will proceed,

And, sad to say, it has a single speed.