The hands of time
Are bent backward
They are welded…
Never to go forward.
The time keeper
wanted to stay here.
He wasn’t prepared;
Dying was his fear.
He tried his best
to stop the inevitable.
His foothold slipped,
efforts became unstable.
Life was released
With an open hand.
He took a tumble
With a thud he did land.
On his tombstone
It was stated…
I was not ready,
My death is prematurely dated.
7/24/07
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh.....I like your bit of wit here on the subject we would all love to stop or maybe even turn back a wee wee...no maybe a great bit: O)