I’M LATE! I’m running out of time
to say the words, to say the rhymes.
I must get out this poem soon
before the time bomb goes
But oh, what could I ever say?
In these last minutes of the day?
What’s so profound? What’s so complete?
What makes a mark on this day’s sheet?
We’re always running out of time
’cause as the clock strikes 59,
there will not be another day
that works exactly in this way.
There will not a March the 5th
that I can take the same time with.
So I will spend seconds thirty
to say what I think time should be.
It’s not a gift, it’s not a choice,
but take it! ‘Cause you have a voice.
The moment’s here, a final bow,
for you to change your world, somehow.
And all that we can ever do
is live until the time runs…