Timed

A small donation will help to keep my poetry FREE!

 
366@40 Day 258 180112

As the hand moves, of my old clock,
The sound it makes, of tick and tock.
We are so aware, as the seconds past,
That time for us, no meant to last.

Time is the item, we always run short,
Time is the item, that cant be bought.

Time is the item, don't always use wise,
Time is the item, that we cant despise.


As the hand moves, time always is lost,
The sound it makes, reminder of the cost.
We are so aware, this we cant gain,
That time for us, is never the same.

Time is the item, we always want more,
Time is the item, that we cant store.
Time is the item, that goes so quick,
Time is the item, that just wont stick.


 
 
Copyright 1990 - 2013 Craig Wadner