The tick-tock
of the heart
Will one day
Stop,
Still—
In the palm
Of Death herself,
And she'll place
The broken gears
And rusted springs
On a shelf—
Remembered only
When people who
Care walk by—
To take a glance
At the pieces
Left behind.
The tick-tock
of the heart
Will one day
Stop,
Still—
In the palm
Of Death herself,
And she'll place
The broken gears
And rusted springs
On a shelf—
Remembered only
When people who
Care walk by—
To take a glance
At the pieces
Left behind.