I feel my time a-slippin,
A-shimmering away,
Into dark of night,
To sparkling bright of day.
I grip with cold prone fingers
Of cold unmoving stone,
To grasp that fabric of time,
But it leaves me still, alone.
I can feel my time a-slipping,
And dashing, running free;
I plead my case, face to face,
But it won't stay with me.
I grasp its shimmering cloth,
Hold like the grip of death,
But smooth as silvery, slithering steel,
Flies away on the wind's very breath.
I feel my time a-slipping
And I call, Come back to me!
But soon when my time comes,
Alone, I'd rather be.