Tale Your Time Poem by Ailbhe Eighteen

Times, seasons, they change,
They are fleeting; they run;
And you battle within your bosom,
But that would be vanity.

Yet you wrestle hard with him,
Struggling to get a list of things done;
Though he tempts to delay, hurry, and run,
The dawn is still long till morning comes.

You have a beautiful wanting,
And thousands of little things in mind;
Your eyes shimmer in bliss,
So yes, find rest and take your time;
Not in haste, tell your timeline,
The tale will be your lifetime.