Tempus Fugit.

How fast the flow

this river's run.

Too close the eve

so low the sun.

Finger's reach to grasp

and hold.

Stem the river

rushing bold.

Eyes that love

see time fall cold.

Each beat of heart

a moment sold.

Bitter winds the time 


my love to lose, yet

still undone.

Though dark  the evening 

drawing near,

the cup of life

does yet run clear.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For the same, ever special man. 

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