It slips and flies Past that, which lives and dies. It hushes the throbbings Of the soul's clogging Destiny's integrity Prolonged brevity. The silent bruth That witnessed the truth. That which watches the roses brew, That which reigns through and through That which heals The burns of you. That which knows That which sows That which rows Certainly uncertain
Through unknown waters, Flowing still, The past it slaughters. It's gushes hath wiped kingdoms away, Being regiment at times, at moments stray. The keeper of foregone, The guardian of my rhyme, Unchristened for me You call it Time.