Time
The drip of a drop
the tick of a clock
the growth of a tree
the fall of the sea
so many ways to measure time
so little ways to make a poem rhyme
I sit here and type
Try to gather some hype
but time still passes
as surely as Sunday masses
still i sit and think
my brain I'm trying to unkink
as time a river
flows on without a quiver
passing me by
without even a goodbye