lørdag den 30. juni 2012

Om Tid

Oh time,
How do you seem to hold such a perfect line?
You're always running, never stopping, such a power, yet so fine

Sweet time,
Healing hands, forming lands, your greatness can only encline
You're like the perfect wife to man, an innocent concubine

Holy time,
Such a refine, no wise man can ever define
Will you be mine?

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