Time is ever so silent
As it treads softly by,
Not stopping for a moment,
Keeping its steady pace.

They are of the ones
Who make the silence stop;
The ones who make it burst
Into laughter or tears.

The strength of time
Can carry joy or grief
Without losing its stride,
And on broad shoulders

Love can be balanced
Without effort, tirelessly,
Making time almost seem
Gentle, more lingering.

And as time weaves
Its golden threads from
Past, present, to future,
It gains their respect.

It pays them no mind,
It goes its own way
While its eyes closely watch
The beckoning hand of Love.