Routes 

The time has come. How I hate time-                                      There’s no rewind, pause or fast forward.

The tics and toc’s, don’t quiet down,        And I don’t even own a clock; But, it’s sounds are loud enough for my         Sensitive ears to hear.

Can we be a painting?                               Song?                                                         Words?                                                             For time ends and when it does,               Hands on clocks, with its loudest clicks,   Slowly become whispers for only ears.

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