Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none
to count thy minutes.
Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like
Thou knowest how to wait.
Thy centuries follow each other perfecting
a small wildflower.
We have no time to lose, and having no time we must
scramble for our chances. We are too poor to be late.
And thus it is that time goes by while I give it to
every querulous man who claims it, and thine altar is
empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be
but I find that yet there is time.