Poetry

Tuesday, 5 March 2024

Woolly

 Time is a sheep

That I keep counting

One minute following the next

Like the rams are mounting

Falling on the hillside

Of a black and white despair

I know I should get going

But I keep going nowhere

Always back into the same old pen

I wish could remember way back when

This whole place was green fields

And times flock hadn't marched

But now the clock has reached us

Time flies by too fast

Put them back into their mother's

Pregnant in the moment

I am here but she's past on

In to eternal foment

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