Today’s date is made of numbers
Though not traced back to a true Day 1
Did time begin with the first Big Bang?
Or the lighting of our sun?
Did our own clocks start with a birthday?
Or nine months before within the womb?
While Earth spins and marks days passing
Tick-tock, toward the tomb
Every second left us is precious
Wanting neither good nor ill
A fragment of a lifetime
To be bent to serve one’s will