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Grains of Time

The sands, softly pass
Through the throat of the glass,
And fall in a granular flow
That streams, to the bulb below
A glass that quietly devours
    And counts, the passing hours.

And never eating its fill
Of fleeting sands that spill,
But with stomach hollow,
The glass continues to swallow,
                                       and swallow.

Ever famished
It continually consumes;
And when turned o'er,
It on again resumes.

O watch the slip of sands
From flask to flask,
And ask, as you go
        From task to task:

How do I use my time,
Like wings that onward fly?
In grains that mount and climb?
In seconds slipping by?

Some day the end will come,
      The final grain will fall...
And life will reach its sum,
      For each of us and all.
  —John Riedell

 
 

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