Time slips thru my fingers , like the water of the lake, or the sand at the playground in the park where I used to play.
Not enough of it can I make, the need seems a thirst impossible to slake.
The attempt to conserve, the effort to save, seems futile in the face of ones grave.
Wilting away with the autumns last flowers
And with winter freezing the reach of this writers mind
Ultimate disaster this lack of time!
It’s as important as to clear out the wilted as it is to bloom and glow..
Hope you are getting busy with what you would like to do too.. π
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Some lovely imagery in this, William. Time is such an elusive thing and there’s no holding it back.
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Your words are piercing and raging π
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I accept your compliment greedily, but I hope the raging part does not scare anyone off! ; )
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Hahha it won’t. It’s will be an innocent rage :p
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