I hear the faint and ticking timepiece
Yes, but more than that I feel it
Metered movement as a metronome
Yet, gaining ground behind me
It’s clicking moments off too quick
Nearly before I’ve time to make them
An angel’s smooth and steady scythe
Hacking down both weeds and blossoms
-a.r.
~ by April on April 12, 2015.
Posted in Death, God, Humanity, Nature, Poetry
Tags: Angel, Death, Flowers, Life, Nature, poetry, Scythe, Seasons, Time, Weeds
additional ‘like’
Additional ‘thank you.’ 😊