Saturday, January 19, 2008


In a small room with green walls
On which were being written the wise words,
The hands kept moving,
Two long and one short,
The shorter one in not so hurry,
For it had half the day
To go around the point.
The slower of the two long ones
Hurrying around eternity,
For it had a fraction of the small one.
The fast one was like a hare,
Hopping from block to block,
As if in a fit of rage,
For it had a fraction of the slow long one,
To go around the chosen one.
And there sat a pupil,
Looking at the face with three hands
Two long and one short
Waiting for his tide to come.

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