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The Hour Glass

Tick, tick, the grains of sand
The grains in the hour glass
A minute, a second, there is no stop
And with each drop, there’s something new

A broken quill, no use to write
Grains before was a feather in flight
The baker’s daughter barely fourteen
Now mother to three children

Was it not that the butterfly there
Was a glutton of leaves a time before?
And did not spring end and return
Making the trees wilt and revive?

Cheeks so red, be now cheeks pale
Soft warm bread, now so stale
Weave from yarn and grains after,
Now a tapestry for display

No man powers time
For no man can hold sand firmly
One may blink, but still a grain there
One may stop, but another grain falls

What of time that it dares go against us?
But what of time that it benefits our plans?
No flower will not wilt, no day eternal
‘Tis only God who holds the hour glass.

By: Mari Begonia A. Cinco, Filed under Literary


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