Stars born and stars dying,
Time had seen them come and go,
no children burn as bright as those
forged in the name of fire.
How long the path of the weary wanderer,
how much further still to go,
only Time will tail they said:
malapropism in a foreign accent.
But Time wouldnโt tell, couldnโt
tell, without hands, or legs,
to stand on. Time felt abused,
left to expire,
chastised for just staying true
to the one pukka power. How long
or how much longer will Time keep
going, as silver stars align
and the world of Men obsesses โ
over nothing.
