Metronomes Marching

metronome

Each day an infant

Raised to fruition

The dawn still weeps

For it is brand new

And fear is fresh

.

Nurturing each one

I lay the evenings down

Not knowing which babe

Will grace tomorrows light

.

As the hourglass empties

The beating grows numb

Ticks become tocks

As the metronome marches

.

So does my heart

Not willing to let go

Of what I didn’t do

What could have been

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