Of Time

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Time is quiet unpredictable.

Sometimes it languishes away in hours. 

Othertimes it leaps and bounds through them.

When important tasks are at hand.

 It’s slips away like a slitherly eel. 

Then on days you wait, it waits with you. 

Like a loyal dog it’s at your heel. 

Like disiplined soldiers that march in sync. 

They cannot be the ones to blame. 

They do not speed they do not heed . 

Yet some mystery is at play.

Maybe time is not the clock.

Maybe time is what you felt. 

How much was done, how long it took.

And only you know what you felt. 

Only you know the time that passed.

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