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I hung a clock without its hands
yet still the day was born and done;
no tick to tell me when to hurry
no bell to strike the fading sun
The flowers bloomed the bread was baked
the child still grew the old still sighed;
the truth: our living isn’t counted
by seconds stacked or hours applied
We lose the joy when we demand
to number every fleeting part;
we find the joy when we remember
to let the time be just a heart
So throw away the watch that binds
walk slower through the open lands;
the only measure that will matter
is how much love still fills your hands
