Dance Of The Hours
Watch them move into night
Open and willing turning to the right
Round they go, always with no end
They don't stop for anyone
No hands do they lend.
Their faces are empty
As they watch you grow old
They cannot walk backward
Blindly do what their told.
You'll beg them to stop
On the night you find true,
And when its taken away
They drag on
That's what they do.
Dance of the Hours
If you let them slip away
Come back to haunt you end of the day.
And when you stop moving
You know they still fly,
So make your dance matter
And they wont pass you by.
© Maria Govoni
Editor's Notes: Contest Entered Poem
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