by sugarcoatedprincess

I think this may be the earliest I’ve posted a poem without it being prepared beforehand! The idea rushed upon me and I had to get it down, so here it is.

Time: what a master!
Give thanks he is not head of the school,
For he grinds out his lessons,
In fervour unbound,
And drives all his students,
Straight to the ground.

Time: what a lord!
Give thanks that he is not ruling as king,
As subjects we’d tremble,
Our knees creaking low,
He’d patiently hold us,
Then let us all go.

Time: what a hunter!
Give thanks he owns no grounds for himself,
For surely he would take,
All game in his way,
Whether they do run,
Or whether they play.

Time: what a searcher!
Give thanks that he does not hold a great sight,
For if he did, then,
Oh, then he would know,
That he shall be caught too,
No more to fly and crow.

Time: what a dog!
Give thanks he is never loosed from his leash,
He is held in check,
By an arm so strong,
It can hold, and does hold,
Every thing, all the day long.