She says; I can still the motion forever, in a moment,
The tireless, and careless carousing of the clock
Whos hands do trace their gluttonous way
Across the timeless, tempestuous, graceful face
Of my brave and valiant Grandfather Death.
For I'm his favorite Grand-Daughter; mortals call me Age;
Whos once-maiden-mouth, now ornery with age
Purses her lips, and then says; I guard the secret of what is meant
Behind Grandfathers talk of veils and vestiges of death.
how she gestures towards the ticking clock;
Each passing hand leaves a line upon your face
In her you may find hope, or choose to tread the other way:
Not towards the beacon light, but the path that points away
From life bitter-sweet swelling into your golden age;
From watching your beauty become slowly defaced,
Until, unprepared, you reach that loathsome moment
She is the priestess-queen of your ticking clock
Allow her, she leads you softly down to delicious Death.
Come now, she whispers, and embrace this wise one Death
Come child of Eve, poor miscreation, youve lost your way,
Too long you have been victim and prey to whisper of my clock
Wish you really to be like me, grotesque and decrepit with age?
And all but the strongest amongst you shall hesitate for a moment
Thinking of retaining, never straining, the beauty of your face.
But listen lightly, lest the power of her prowess efface
Your yearning for life and hence replace it with desire for Death.
You may cry there is little to no value in a moment
If I am naught but a shell after She took my Beauty away
So I bow now, before her, and speak my resignation to Age.
And so, again she wins, with the ploy of her Grandfathers clock.
You will die young never to say Time time time is this what you meant
When you spoke your lament Whats become of me? in the face
Of her sinister sister who sweetly calls herself Age
And her callous father who took your life into the bowels of Death
And all thats gold no longer sparkles, all that shimmers fades away
As your life ends in fear of the ticking damage of the clock.