O' for the comforting touch,
Of the sound between the tick and the tock.

For there we ran happy as children
To a backdrop of gently sighing breezes,
Laughing gulls and softly braking waves.
I smiled, as in the sand we drew with sticks.

These silent memories sit inside of me
As I wait for the tock to kill the tick
So I can once again fly away, happy and free . . .


Penned by my hand on the 7th of Glacian, in the year 295 AF.