Poetry

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From the past to the present,is time the great observer;in motion and yet
staying quite still,through the hustle and the bustle,an unopened pattern.
That time itself may distil a vapour of how meaningful are our thought's on
paper, to see with eyes that can't devise,day's lenght year's lenght, who
could invent a life's content's,since GOD DO FIX the day,can to-morrow
run away;its time i learn't to pray,is to-morrow still a day,how alive can i
then be;since our time is always free,while to-morrow's GOD'S DECREE
by HIS VERY OWN ENTRY.
Joe.

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