No one knows that at the gates of heaven,
the only question asked, is how you spent your time
If we knew that time is measured in page flips,
in the shadows cast by towering trees and in contentment;
we wouldn’t measure time in punctuality and habits
nor squander it on obligations and thieves.
If time keeping didn’t mean trying to contain
but to hold close what is our most precious possession
We would know, that the ladders stacked around lead nowhere
and we would walk past them with no hesitation.
Nature would ravage these unaccustomed limits
and turn them into canopies to read under.