Just as the waves push toward the pebbled shore, our minutes hasten toward their end, each moment replacing the one that went before, straining against each other to move forward in successive effort. Once born, creatures crawl from that pre – birth ocean of light to maturity, facing cruel eclipses that obstruct their glory, and Time, that gives, begins to destroy its own gifts. Time pierces the flowering cast of youth and digs deep lines in beauty's forehead: feeds on the most exquisite of nature's specimens, and there's nothing that its scythe won't mow. And yet my verses will last to be read by future generations, praising your worth in spite of Time's cruel hand.
