Silently, with awkward patience, leads the clock's metallic hand, <br />round and round, to all its stations, twelve in number, still and bland. <br />Take your eyes now off the action, tend your garden or your home <br />quickly slips another fraction, OFF, why not a metronome? <br />Tireless your heart is beating, oxygen flows in and fades, <br />go, my friend, another meeting, this time it's the Everglades. <br />Take with hands the gods once gave you, never mind those hungry eyes <br />see the clock, it cannot save you, soon you say your quick goodbyes.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/your-time-3/
