Time Poem by Emma Atkinson
Time
Time, what is time?
Stone, smooth and slippery beneath my feet,
So much so it slips away.
Time, what is time?
A traveler walking to a measured beat,
The rhythm of unending day.
Time, what is time?
The memory of a child's laughter, soft and bittersweet,
Growing fuller only to decay.
Time, what is time?
A wining road beneath my feet,
Leading me down some unknown way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 5:42:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
