Time

The time we wear upon our sleeve,
When it is lost with weary should we trod.
It is often torn from us and we bereave.
But it is glorious when freshly she is born.
She is my lovely friend I once knew.
The world had shown her much shame.
By the devil often slew.
She had never born much flame.
The world boasted many a prize
But she knew she’d never prove so wise.
She’d shown her rationale to be
Much greater than any they’d ever see
She is so fickle and witty,
Ticking through this world without pity.

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