Passage of Time

Time presses on, through days and years,

Quite heedless of all mortal fears; 

He has a task, an end in sight,

And so he journeys through the night.


But night and day affect him not:

Their stain of age can never blot

The robes of Time, for he is far

From reach of pain and mark of scar.


What tales could Father Time relate,

What songs of bravery and fate, 

‘Ere yet his march is past and done,

Emblazoned in the dying Sun?

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