Someone said it: Time is a thief.

It takes a part of us each day.

At first, it doesn’t seem too much:

A single hair, a shard of skin,

A tiny speck of recollections;

But the tally mounts, the mirror

Documents this slippery slope.

Time, we know, is a one-way bet;

Such a lot goes unrecorded.

Our memories cannot keep up,

So even at our peak the gaps

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No clock is set, no horn is blown;
the path is cleft by unseen hand.
The hour is lost, the stone unshown,
no foot may mark where ends the land.

It bides behind the blood and bone,
through bitter frost, through burning rain;
it hears no oath, it heeds no moan,
it knows no pity, spares no name.

A thousand boasts, a hundred cries
are scattered like the chaff and seed.
The proud are fell...

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