If each second of my life must be a grain of sand.
I will not let it be confined to precision.
It will be pounded by sun-warmed feet,
Dragged and blessed by salted waters and
If it must pass, it will drift through joyous fingers,
Not slide the unyielding curve of cold, indifferent glass.
If it must be gone forever, let it rest amidst its fellows
In a spade smacked bucket,
Not unheeded in the discard pile of passed times' hourglass.