"How the clock moves on, relentlessly,
with such assurance that it eats the years.
The days are small and transitory grapes,
the months grow faded, taken out of time.
It fades, it falls away, the moment, fired
by that implacable artillery -
and suddenly, only a year is left to us,
a month, a day, and death turns up in the diary."
— Feb 23, 2021 01:13AM
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