Silently, with awkward patience, leads the clock's metallic hand,
round and round, to all its stations, twelve in number, still and bland.
Take your eyes now off the action, tend your garden or your home
quickly slips another fraction, OFF, why not a metronome?
Tireless your heart is beating, oxygen flows in and fades,
go, my friend, another meeting, this time it's the Everglades.
Take with hands the gods once gave you, never mind those hungry eyes
see the clock, it cannot save you, soon you say your quick goodbyes.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/your-time-3/
