I kept seven watches in my room,
All set to G. M. T.
For ages all my time was in bloom.
I owned chronometric luxury!
But, one by one, they slipped away,
Gave up the seconds, the hours, the days.
Batteries, sadly, have but feet of clay.
I pondered where my life had gone,
How darkness reigned
Where the sun once shone.
We are but watches, with fragile tickers,
Designed to stop, when our candle flickers.