Whether thou fears, or fears not, Father
Thy winter days are now
Tie tight thy simmit
And set thy teeth against the gale

Remove thine aspirations
Thy time is nigh
Thou art six times old of Ten
And yet another Ten

Thy days art numbered
One . two .. three the shrouded hour abides with thee
Four .. five .. six.. the clock, against thee, ticks 
Seven . eight . nine ..the chalk draws now the finish line

In murmuration, thus arrive 
At ten and o’er 
Each second tick
Is less the first
The third chimes silently

The moment …now
The peace
The quietude
The empty gaze
The swingless gate
The stillness and the 
Exit

Burnt

I am an Amateur Gynaecologist with a love of Maidenhair Ferns and a fondness for interpreting Vermeer's Paintings as Metaphors ...

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