poem

Tick Tock

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Tick tock, tick tock
The hand races round the clock.
Your senses screaming red and blue
Piercing through the dead afternoon.
Wait is all but what you can do,
For it will arrive no time soon.
How you wish you could change its gear,
Take a U-turn or go in reverse,
But it will never wait to hear,
Keeps running for the better or worse.
Loosen up and let it drive.
Should you resist its course,
You will be left behind till you revive.
For its friction is too strong a force.
And the hand will continue its race round the clock,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

image

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4 thoughts on “Tick Tock

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