Friday, March 18, 2016

Time



          Time
          (to Zeno)

The second hand makes no fuss
As it glides from one to impossible two.
Outside, traffic rushes
People walk and birds fly
And no-one notices.
It’s already over
And it isn’t yet
And it’s always now.
I can’t avoid this gentle wonder
As the second hand quietly glides
From three to impossible four.

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