If Time was water,
I'd nestle shallow above it.
I'd flick the sand from my hand,
feel the wind upon me descend;
In the gentle ebb and flow,
warm and comfortable.
I'd even remain content
with the precise ticking
of a punctual hand,
unmoved and unassuming,
never inclined to stay behind;
with its pesky nudge and splash,
I'd still count the minutes I can spare;
and the wet sand -
sifting swiftly through my hand,
dissolving
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment