In this, the forest without clocks,
Where muted grey shades boring green,
Imported time is seized at docks
And shackled off to quarantine.
No years have passed beneath these clouds,
Their concept still a mystery;
The drooping, numb, quiescent crowds
Live caged in still eternity.
We have no use for hopes and fears,
So do not wish, nor dream, nor pine;
For that we’d need days, months, and years,
Forbidden clocks, imported time.
David
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