The hands of a clock Are like hands that are waving goodbye And, when you're in love, Every tick of the clock is a sigh. And so I make this wish, A wish every heart understands That, when you're with me, In our own secret world there will be A clock without hands
Thinking about Time, I guess we're all familiar with the Bard's wonderful sonnets on Time? I've just done an essay on no. 64. We're all afraid that "Time will come and take my love away, this thought is as a death which cannot choose/ but weep to have that which it fears to lose." I think your poem was beautiful, pFF.
Cape Cod Massachusetts USA