Up Late, And Into, The 'Night-Fright'. Poem by Michael Gale

Up, late, up late, here I be lonely, at my paced gait...
Why is it so goofing late?

The wee hours escape me now...
Like the grass, all eaten by a very huge, hungry cow.

The tick of the clock, on the wall...
Cannot forsake, Father Time, or to even, to him, stall.

Seconds, into minutes, into hours, into days, into month's, into years, in pace...
For these are the facts, that, we may never, borrow and replace.

This is the continuum, of time and space...
Always and forever, we, in our place.

We all, are doomed to die...
Our human parts, wear out, that is not a made up fact, or lie.

For-Some of us, enjoy all our wake filled hours...
That is only, the sum, of our, mere, mortal powers.