By: Corey Duckworth
Ticking away to the sounds of the waterfalls rhyme,
Within the distance I take a leap,
A dance between both space and time,
Your heart I see within my grasp.
The bitter sting of a butterfly’s wasp.
What did the hourglass grant you,
As it’s hands pointed to twelve?
What secrets did it ask you;
in which memories did it delve?
Think fast! Wretchedness of my own,
A fool’s youth turned into a fool grown.