It slows, It flys,
It trickles, It stops.
Deathly quiet,
you hear the pins drop.
It is eternal and timeless,
it is time itself.
Surrounded by sorrow,
and happiness of wealth.
It never ends, It never dies,
even if you wanted to say goodbye.
It has no wrath, no mind of its own.
It just is, with nothing to atone.
It does not feel,
It does not speak.
It doesn't stop,
for the strong or the weak.
Mandy Lee
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/time-489/
