Meagre Time
Feb 3, 2021
They greet
Three, thirteen, thirty hours…
They end their meet.
Against time they got no powers!
Never are they out of talk
For when they are hush,
Eyes do the deadlock.
Giving the cheeks a flush, rush of blush
He’s the hour hand
Towering and passive mover,
She’s the minute hand
With a spontaneous maneuver!
The irony of the story is,
Semblance of wanting flux
While a piece amiss…
How one’s truth one simple chucks!
