The Clock Poem by Obi Yindal

My heart’s a clock—
Ticking and tucking;
Precious hours are passing
Not waiting for me at all,
But moving and changing.

Consumed with regrets, I sigh
It passes me by,
And often leaves me feeling ashamed
And defeated.
Only one to animate,
Only one to make my space.

Should I fail to engrave upon it—
Have I another chance at a next?
The ticking and the tucking
Is a cry to me to visit my grounds
In retrospect;
And exhaust to plant
Of what remains,
A goodly fruit tree
Upon mountains or plains.