A Journey of Discipline
There exists an object with three arms
That signals the seconds we have that remains
Racing with the sun, moon and many stars.
A constant relay that turns all things grey.
There comes fun and lures along the same.
Making hearts merry and flat feet weigh.
Whispering, "afar is the rising tide".
"Stay with me, I alone can satisfy".
Doubts and fears lodge at each turn.
Left or right, which path is really right?
Why is there planted here a lonely circle?
The mind then drowns and slowly drives.
'Till time's arm are broken and tallied
It tends to run faster than bolt's legs.
'Till hearts and paths are well-fenced
Eyes tends always to follow folly
'Till hands hold light ere each step
The minds holes won't be mended.
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