A wrinkle in the I of time
Catches bitter tears
That fall like sleet
Upon the earth
Of wasted, bitter years.
Plod, ye lazy plodders slow
Fill me up a life
With joy and mirth
And pain and fears
With peace and aimless strife.
Go gather me a moon or two
And wish upon a star
Just plant a rhyme
- Watch it grow
Into the me that are!