My time is a thing that I cannot retract:
No “Give me that back!”s.
No, no, no.
If I take my own wrist,
and I give you my watch,
you must guard it and not let it go.
When I see that watch hang
from two fingers that quake,
I shall tug to remind you it’s gold.
You should know my time’s best
kept too tight to your chest;
if it is, it shall guide you till old.
Because time signals chances,
and each chance rings a tick:
you can hear why I want you, and when.
Now, I see that your fingers
still but loosen that gem;
you will not see my timepiece again.