And the time proceeds,
Like a tumble weed.
In front of eyes,
Through countless ryes.
With distaste, relentless,
Butchered, countless.
When every high,
Is a supreme low.
Where ecstasy,
Is a pale shadow.
It passes,
Like clockwork.
With many spindles,
Synchronized quirk.
O Time, O dear Time,
Never mine, never thine.
I pine for you,
To stick like glue.
And you just fake,
My feelings, forsake.
And I want you to go,
With respectful bow.
You stay,
Why? I pray?
Eons, Ages, centuries burn,
And you stay taciturn.
A bit goes,
And you go verbose.
Time, O dear time.
When will you come to be mine?
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