Always looking towards the clock,
so much time, and even more thought,
to fill the chasm, limitless void,
the eye, the ear, the mind have toiled,
the spirit reaches when the feet must rest,
and the mind remembers which of all were best,
the feeling of a place drawn across time,
the power in hand when motivations align,
the inspired song when the muses take flight,
the remorse when the light grows dim in the night,
the delight when the stars fall and fade,
and the fiery sun sweeps the brisk morning away.
in one direction every thing must fall,
the rhythm is surely without, withal
and whoever set the motions made man
a wandering ‘low sun soon as he began.