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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