A poem about the world

Time is a friend,

from the beginning to the end,

sometimes slow, sometimes fast,

a companion to the last.

Through the ups,

through the downs,

clock face moving round and round.

It’s a constant you can’t chase,

take it’s value from watch face,

creation of the human race.

Whether rich or poor,

time comes marching through the door,

you can’t stop it’s constant march,

life’s a blast but not meant to last.


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