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The Fray

I fancy a life 
In which we’d be blithe 
In which you’re my wife 
And we shun the scythe

The dire death’s sickle
We shall escape its blow
If only time did trickle
If only it were slow

But though it is flying
Running in a vicious flow
I am hardly trying
‘Gainst its tide I row

Against time I stand
And though I’m only clay
I’ll claim the upper hand
In this long weary fray

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 9/14/2018 11:30:00 PM
Love the imagery.
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Taboubi Avatar
Abdelbasset Taboubi
Date: 10/13/2018 4:36:00 AM
thank you