Spring 1960
The child
What's Time? That's funny - I don't know,
Except that sometimes when I see
A black crow feather drifting down the air
Time stops and talks to me.
The man
What's Time? A stark, impartial wind
That sweeps me through each jumbled year,
Cold its cold breath pushing me off
This over-crowded sphere
The old woman
What's Time? Its meaningless - a word
For bringing children in from play
A handy thing for those who like their pigeon holes.
Don't fret. We have today.