Ticking and tocking, time gently reminds us of it's passing,
causing no flurry of emotions.
Until that is, we begin to think of life as it exists,
shortening every minute.
Waltzing through passages carried on winged feet and left
dangling in the air.
Wherever designs lie, patterns are forming, catching the eye,
focusing it upon the exact clocks of life.
Heeding time spent on and off, temporarily taking advantage
of every minute sent their way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem