Where, oh where, does time go,
Every second that passes by?
Does it become a distant memory
Or, like all things, wither and die?
Why does time never stop
And make everything stand still?
From the smallest blade of grass
To the creature at the top of the hill.
Why must the clock never stop ticking away?
Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day?
Why does time seem to flash before our eyes?
Even when I'm deep in slumber,
On and on it flies.
Perhaps it never leaves us,
As in our memories it implants itself.
A place where a moment can be recaptured.
A place where it never dies.
Even when our lives are done
And we lay down to rest,
Time itself must never end.
It must go on and on.
For time, it seems, there is no rest.
It's work is never done.
(C) Poetess 1996.
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