They put it on a line and called it Time
It passed – bored and restricted
On a one-way ticket, in the back of a bus
Time watches out the rear window
to know what it once was.
At a quarter till the string was pulled
Everything slowed down, the stars blurred
Unheard Of came to stand, still
when in stepped Reality, with a transfer,
on its way to work.
Time shrugged and averted its gaze
Reality chuckled, taking the seat in the front
The driver was jolly and told an ironic joke
She was ancient, and a wrinkle of the guy in the back
often called Fate.