An incense stick of time,
Walks out the space between,
These moments their becoming,
These passing turns of things,
Play out a snatching tune,
Walk out the space between,
Instantiate the time until
The next is soon becoming.

Hush my child,
There will be time,
To play before we set off,
I know the hands and command the face,
The time won't slip out of my grasp,
There will be time, my dear,
So don't worry little warrior of mine,
I'll tell you when there's time no more,
And where and when its best to step,
When sleepy legs are bound to bend,
And the playing is unfinished still.