Seconds
Each second dies so brief it stays
among the minutes, hours, and days
of living’s murmuration spell,
in which we mortals have to dwell;
as each moment slowly decays.
Time is inconstant; it betrays;
traps you in it’s alluring maze;
then so, quite when, it’s hard to tell,
each second dies.
Time is not all that it portrays,
that of a roll of endless days.
Too soon, you’ll hearken your death knell,
tolling seconds fond farewell;
as fickle time, with you, it plays,
each second dies.
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