A Dream Of Clocks.

A Dream of Clocks

Tick, tock, tick, tock, I sit and watch the clock's

drop.

They sl  i                   de away like a slow, hot day.

They drip, like water, as time flows on.

Why

they

lounge

in

a

tree? I don't know, but they m

                                       e

                                                   l

                                                   t away slow.

Slithering across the ground, I look up and wonder,

Why don't they fly? Is that not what time does?

I'm under their t

                          w

                        i

                           s

                        t

                           e

                         d

birch now,

I listen to the clocks as they tick-tock.

They laugh at my mortality.

Endlessly, they drag on.

epi       , like paint on an easel.

   e        n

 W         g

TickTockingClickClacking

Depressed they have to live theirs,

They know that at least, eventually, I get to rest.