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Time Changes

Time changes may not make much sense,
To grumpy Indians in their tents,
This cutting short a blanket to sew
It back at the other end you know.

And farmers always make the claim,
Their cows regard them still the same,
With cold hands in the early morn intrusion,
Where numbers on a clock just add confusion.

Time changes … nothing.

Time changes in the city life of bustle,
Making noise even earlier to hustle,
Out to be the early bird although its worm,
Has scarcely gone to bed and will not squirm.

The traffic rears its ugly head and voice,
And everyone must go, they have no choice.
Or else they will be late, so very, very late,
For what they know’s that all-important date.

Time changes … everything.

While watchers of the life around them wonder,
How did the human race begin this blunder?
This racing, running, rampaging about,
This losing of a whispered love in shout.

When nature set the time for waking with the light,
And time for gaining rest with growing night,
We had more time for talking and just being,
In that togetherness we now-a-days are fleeing.

Times change.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . November 1, 2008