As each day ticks away and the minutes mount,
It’s the words upon the page that really count.
Deadlines to reach and numbers to breach,
How many letters does it take,
To reach the target set for this day.
Dawn rushes unto dusk and the sand drains away,
It’s the outlines on the page to be rubbed away.
Colours to mix and washes to dry,
How many brushes does it take, and mixes of grey,
To finish the section for this day.
Daybreaks with a chorus and fingers on the wire,
It’s a score writ on the page awaiting a lyre.
Tunes to play and music to the ears,
How many notes does it take,
To copy Her song that she plays all the day.
Age follows age and time rolls on,
And it’s the lines in blue that point the way.
Chisel tools that carve and duly shape,
How many slivers does it take,
To craft that work upon that day.
Time never stops, nor does it wait,
Pick up your tools, or you shall be late!
Your time will have passed,
Not a piece did you leave.
Wait not for the morrow,
But work on the day.
Fail not to follow
A plan thus to say:
I was ‘ere;
This was my Day!