There is much to create

Time isn’t a river in spate

Precious drops take flight

We may wither, but time knows no blight

Mud or throne, ashes cannot show

Even they disappear, with time’s incessant flow

Beneficial or wasteful, there isn’t a referee

Befouling our spending spree

Receding eras can’t be owned or loaned

Try as we may, the taste of truth is postponed

Even a moment that slips by

A wasted chance to rectify

The moribund clock, it brings in grey

Where we hesitate to go, it’s the only way

Standing still, time has a weakness

Known by those who’ve touched completeness