There once was a time (or perhaps there was not,
Since time is a thing mostly gods understand)
When there were no time pieces of any kind.
These were times spent in ignorance of workday grind
There was much time for loving for woman and man.
People lived in the now, thus time couldn’t be bought.
Throughout that era folks had so much fun
And weren’t bothered by schedules nor respondent to chimes
When people felt like it they got their work done
Often long before started, therefore never begun
Children often came up with their own nursery rhymes
Then they acted them out beneath blanketing sun
From whence then this notion of time did appear?
‘Twas a soft spoken face with much tick up its sleeve.
With its tick concealed there, folks assumed it was normal…
Its demeanor demure, though, and speech rather formal.
“If my tick had a voice,” it thought, “I’d achieve
My dharma in life and a stellar career!”
So, this face had some numerals tattooed on his person.
The artist involved didn’t think to ask why.
He just figured a face can do what it wants.
‘Twas not his concern if, per chance, his work haunts.
Sure enough, when this face left the parlor, nearby
People got really sick; as he neared, they would worsen.
Officials then sprayed him with ‘numeral-b-gone,’
As they saw him a threat to the life they had made.
The face complained, “I have tick, don’t you know?
If I were permitted to tock, I would grow!”
But the people felt they were being played.
They made him leave town by the crack of dawn.