The Unknown Goddess

Saturday stumbled onto Wednesday clutching her nemophilus.
The two were twissles on the branch of time.
Across the sparkling waves of an endless Ocean they sailed--
Heads, glowing furoles skittering over the ships deck.
A weathered grandmother clock chimed at the bow of the ship.
She was old. Her wood body was wrinkled and bleached,
Inevitable after ages exposed, vulnerable;
washed in the breeze of a salty sea. Bombarded by photons.
A white dress of the lightest most invisible material, twisted
In the wind around her intricately carved shoulders.
“What do the hands on your face stand for?” asked Saturday gregariously.
“A minute, a millennium, an eon. Do you not know about the universe child?”
“I know nothing about the u-n-i-v-e-r-s-e. Saturday and I go to public school.”
Giggling, a chocolate milk bubble burst from Saturday's nostirls.
She knew little about her creative powers. She had birthed a universe
Right under her nose. And the inhabitants, too small to smell,
built temples to The Unknown Goddess. And all the music they wrote hinted
Of freckles and pigtails and sunburns, concepts atomic sized milk chocolate men
struggle with but know intuitively, deep in their nuclei .
Philosophizing about time was instantly boring to the girls.
Granny time knew of no other topic of conversation, her sole satisfaction
In life was swimming in time, swan diving into it and then writing
Five paragraph essays about temporal splashing.
“Good bye now dear granny.” The children said
“Yes, until we meet again sweet children.”
Over the ageless sea they drifted. Forever and ever young and tan.
Granny time was medicated by the ships doctor sometime later; diagnosed as obsessive compulsive for her incessant counting.