The old man on the park bench
Mutters to himself something
He has read or heard somewhere:
It is easier to forget
Than be forgotten;
Time flies when young.
The green peacocks
That cannot fly
Turn red in season;
Time moves in various colours.
The parrots cannot be still or quiet
They screech from tree to tree
Seem always in a hurry;
Time is frenetic around them.
The funeral procession
Pauses every now and then
To set off serial crackers
What are they celebrating
But the death of time.
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