Time Poem by Melissa Joy Chesky

The year misfortune dies
And is forever set in its grave.
The month luck is met
And is looked upon as a celestial fate.
The week anticipation heightens
And is the best thing felt.
The day everything slows
And is swept into lull.
The hour my life excels
And is caressed by perfection.
The minute my heart flits
And is thoroughly healed.
The second his voice reaches my ear
And is arrogantly confident he won’t leave.