Poem: The Hours

It takes one second for a clock to tick
A stroke of an axe in a wood
It only takes a second to snap
Or create a single reverberating clap

It takes sixty seconds to complete a minute
Approximately sixty beatings to a drum
It may be sixty steps to the finish line
Or sixty smiles you’re given to shine

There’s sixty minutes to fill an hour
Take a moment’s pause and think for a while
The hour you choose to close your eyes
May be the same dire hour to make you wise

Twenty four hours in a day is luxury
A treasure which knows not how to return
It may dazzle your way to futility
Or it may be your pass to your destiny

The hours escape like a smoke from a chimney
Its pulsations mesh in a busy society
It gently weaves its way to every soul
It works no end even in nightfall

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